Starvation 1
by Penelope Wendy Bing
Summary: A year after the rebels were defeated, a horrifying punishment has been devised: twenty-four children will be sent into an arena to kill one another. This is the first Hunger Games.
1. Prologue

**A/N- **For the sorely deluded, I do not own the Hunger Games. And also big thanks to two people. First to Suzanne Collins, who really _does_ own the Hunger Games, and to LoveTheBoyWithTheBread, my beta.

And now, I am proud to present Starvation 1.

**Chapter 1**

"Two minutes to broadcast." Shouted one of the technicians from backstage of the studio. A makeup artist fussed over a last minute adjustment to Erasaziel Toonce's eye makeup. The glitter all over her eyelids, lips, cheeks, eyebrows, nails, and jewelry was gaudy. A premonition of stranger Capitol trends to come.

"One minute to broadcast!" Sazi whirled to the desk in front of the camera, where Tennem Flore, her fellow newscaster, waited.

With a final adjustment to her ash gray suit, she beamed at the camera.

"In seven, six, five, four, three," the head cameraman held up two fingers, then one, and pointed.

"Good morning, Panem!" Exclaimed Tennem with a huge smile. "I'm sure I don't need to remind you all what today is."

Sazi leapt in. "For the last several months we've been preparing for a very exciting event. As you all know, the Districts of Panem rebelled a few, painful, years ago. The war is now over, thanks to the valiant efforts of our protectors among the Capitol government and dedicated Peacekeepers. Now, in commemoration and reparation for this sad event, the Capitol is going to hold a grand contest! Twenty-four members of the rebellious Districts will be thrown head to head in an intense battle of strength, intelligence, and skill."

"The last one standing will become the greatest champion in all of Panem!" Tennem trilled. "The daring contestants are…

"Iarea Jixtings and Krenk White of District 1!"

"Flute French and Fenn Zete of District 2!" Erasaziel proclaimed.

"To Liscan and Audio Lome from District 3!" Back to Tennem.

"Disha Lawrence and Quke Kimbler of the lovely District 4."

"Aria Lyemann and Preel Bart are the contestants of District 5."

"Braedi Tandey and Wrianin Abro hail from District 6."

"Ankha Zeet and Murk Fascia of District 7 are next!"

"Harmony Dryer and Jiminy Frank represent District 8."

"The lovely Rhiattany Hurli and dashing Buddy Zody are from District 9"

"Pippa Fawn and Narcis Aramis are District 10's contestants."

"Kayya McKechelle and Drai Brister are the competitors from District 11."

"Marta Mio and Eulkichu Dambis finish the lineup." Concluded Sazi, still beaming. "As you all know, District 13 was destroyed by the war, which makes it just a _weensy_ bit hard for them to send contestants."

Everyone chuckled.

"I'm sure you all remember last night's interviews, but just in case anybody missed them, we're going to have a recap!" As Tennem concluded, the screen darkened, and then came up again with footage of the interviews. The children sat stiff and silent in a row, stage lights glinting off of costumes.

" Good evening Panem." The interviewer, a woman named Tsepelia Climian, spoke into her microphone with a serene smile. "I don't know about you, but I'm certainly ready to get to know our contestants."

She turned from the crowd to beckon forth the girl from District 1. Nothing happened. "Iarea dear. Come on."

The first child in the row slowly stood up, hampered by fear and heavily jeweled silk skirts. Tsepelia smiled kindly as the girl made her way as slowly as possible toward the microphone.

"You name is Iarea, correct? Iarea Jixtings?"

"Yeah…From District 1." The girl answered uneasily.

"What a big honor, to be the first contestant ever interviewed in the Hunger Games! How do you feel?"

The interviews continued in a whirl with only the memorable pieces dissected and displayed from last night's footage.

"How do you pronounce you name? Is it Too?" Tespelia asked the girl from District 3, the one with hair cut as short as the hair of most boys.

"No. It's more like Toe. Hey, blame my parents, okay? S'not my fault."

Everyone laughed.

"But seriously, who names their kid after _toes_? My brother's lucky he didn't end up named Thumb or something."

"Do you think you can win, To?"

"Sure I can. Nobody else here seems ready and willing to do what they need to do."

To the boy from District 5: "What do you think is your greatest asset, Preel?"

"I don't get mad easily. I don't make stupid mistakes."

To Wrianin Abro, from District 6: "Your hair is so short! Any particular reason why?"

"Unlike most of the kids dragged here to 'Repay our debt to the Capitol.' I really was a freedom fighter. I had to cut my hair when I entered the rebel army. I fought to liberate my District for two years, and now I'm paying for it."

"…Ah."

To Jiminy Frank of District 8: "Do you feel prepared for this competition?"

"I'm still kind of numb, I guess. I'm still waiting for someone to pop out and tell us that this has all been a joke and that we can go home. I'm still having trouble believing that this is happening."

To Rhiattaney Hurli, the twelve-year-old tribute of District 9: "Do you feel disadvantaged being the youngest tribute in this arena?

"Not really. I've always heard that younger kids learn faster and better. I bet I'll learn everything I need to know fast."

To Narcis Aramis of District 10: "So, Narcis-"

"Don't call me Narcis."

"What?"

"You're not my friend. So don't call me Narcis. Call me Aramis."

To Kayya McKechelle, the girl of District 11: "My, my! You're just lovely. Who's your stylist?"

"Joyrissa Maroo."

"She did a wonderful job."

"She said she wanted my costume to look it had been made from plant material, but at the same time, not look too caveman."

"There's no question she succeeded!"

"What does it matter? A pretty dress isn't going to help me fight for my life."

When it finished highlighting the last few interviews, the video feed cut back to Tennem and Sazi.

"I don't know about you, Tennem, but I can't wait to see who comes out on top!" Erasaziel exclaimed.

"The Games will begin right after this commercial break, so hurry up and get ready. This is one show you _won't_ want to miss!" Exclaimed Tennem.

The On Air light changed color from green to red.

"Alright everyone. T minus three minutes and forty seconds to air." Exclaimed the manager.

The makeup crew swarmed Tennem and Erasaziel, who more or less ignored them all. They were professionals. Their makeup teams had practically dissolved into background noise over the years they'd been anchormen.

"This is so exciting!" Chirped Sazi.

"My money's on that freedom fighter from 6. He's tough."

Sazi frowned. "Don't say that. It's people like him who caused so much trouble in the first place. If anyone deserves to lose this, it's him. I'm rooting for that little girl, Rhiattany. She seems smart."

"Smart, yes. But I just don't see her fighting well."

"One minute to air!"

"I'll talk to you later, Tennem." Sazi said, and plastered a smile on her face.

"In six, five, four, three…" Two fingers, one finger, point.

"Welcome back, Panem!" Sazi exclaimed, sounding like she couldn't possibly be more thrilled to be alive.

Soberly, Tennem added. "Now a few words from our very own President Hellwick."

The video feed faded to a woman in a subdued dark gray suit. Her shoulder length brown hair was slicked back with some kind of hair gel until she practically looked bald. Her teeth were unnaturally white. Distractingly so. Her dark eyes stared straight at the camera. Her voice was cool and dead, but earnest.

"Citizens of the Capitol and Districts. The war was a great tragedy, causing almost 100,000 deaths. However, out of the suffering will come a more unified Panem. We will come together with protection and obedience to flourish and grow. Order will be restored to our beautiful country as the Games atone for the sins of the ungrateful, and remind us what happens when the weak try to stand on their own, rejecting the kindness of the benevolent. May Panem ever rule, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

The president's visage was replaced by the teary-eyed announcers.

"Just beautiful! When the president speaks, how can anyone help but listen?" Tennem sighed.

"Yes, there's no question the Capitol loves President Hellwick." Sazi sighed, smiling and wiping her eyes. "And now citizens of Panem, let the Games begin!"


	2. Let The Games Begin

**Chapter 2**

**Ankha Zeet, District 7**

My silver platform moves up, and I can feel the panic filling my chest again. I have sixty seconds, sixty seconds, before there's a price on my head. Killing me is going to become the price of survival. Part of the price, anyway.

My platform clunks to a stop. I spin wildly with my two black braids whipping my face, trying to get a feel of my surroundings. Mixed forests. A clearing in front of me, with supplies littering the ground.

Something catches my eye, a red backpack, lying next to a club. Supplies and a weapon. Once I have them, I am outta here.

A shot indicates that we can leave our platforms, but no one does. We all stare at each other, unsure of what to do. Then the District 3 girl, To, leaps off her platform and sprints into the clearing.

The moment is broken, and more of us lunge for the vital food and weapons.

I snatch the backpack and club, and run off sideways, so I can keep an eye on the other competitors.

To is running off, swinging her loaded bow and arrow to keep everyone away from her. I swear I'll never stop watching out for that girl. She's not cruel, but she's determined to get herself home.

Murk, the boy from my District who's already going gray at eighteen, is facing off that rebel from District 6. They aren't really fighting though, more like having a staring contest over the sword that lies between them. They're probably afraid that if they make a move, so will their opponent.

I just catch the little girl, Rhiattany, shimmying up a tree. She probably plans to hide there.

The District 12 boy, Achoo or whatever his name is, is shoving a formidable set of knives and something small that I can't quite see into his uniform vest.

The trees close over the clearing, and I disappear.

**Quke Kimbler, District 4**

The eight or so of us still in the clearing stare at each other. It's like them platforms again. Where nobody knew what to do. We all have our salvage held tight to our bodies. All I got was a jug of water. But that's more'n okay. I grew up in 4. I know how important water can be.

We turn and head off in a bunch of directions. We don't wanna kill anybody. Not unless we've gotta. I start walking, looking for food, a place to sleep. It's not long till I find I little ridge that should keep off rain and wind.

I drop the jug in my little hideout and keep looking for food. I don't wanna starve. I can't find anything I recognize. Of course, most of what I can recognize is fish. If I could find a lake or river I'd be in business.

All of a sudden, pain bites into my ankle. I yelp and kick without thinkin', sending the snake that bit me flying. The poison is spreading real fast, and I fall over with black spots in my eyes. An hour into the Games and I'm already dead.

I hope somebody gets good use outta my water.

**Krenk White, District 1**

For the first time, I find myself wishing my hair wasn't quite so white blond. Not to sound too full of myself, but I'm quite a looker. Still, brown hair might be better camouflage or something, and we all could use as much help as we can get.

I got crackers from the pile, and a needle and thread set. I'm mad. I don't need to sew, I need weapons! I guess it might come in handy for giving myself stitches or whatever. But that's not really what I care about. I look around to see if there's anyone in this general area.

Nope.

I drop my stuff and break a branch off a tree. Good. Now I can fight. And I fully intend to. This is for real, and, not to sound too full of myself, but I deserve to get home.

I sit down against the tree before changing my mind and huddling under a bush. Man, I feel like an idiot scrunched up with my knees on my chest. Not to sound too full of myself, but I'm pretty big. And pretty buff. I like to work out. But the bush offers some cover.

It's dark now. The seal of Panem appears in the sky and I spit on the ground. An old habit I share with my friends. Our own little way to rebel. The anthem plays and I do my best to look bored. They told us the dead contestants will be shown during the anthem every day.

"Quke Kimbler." The picture of the District 4 kid is projected. Then the screen goes black.

So only the Cucumber, huh? Dang. I was hoping for more. That would save me trouble. Oh well. One down, twenty-two to go.

_Day two._

**Aria Lyemann, District 5**

I labor through the forest. My black hair is loose. I refuse to tie it back. The Capitol can make me fight, can make me die, but they can't stop me from being me. And I love my hair.

I didn't get anything yesterday, but I know a bit about edible plants. I found some kind of leaf that I recognized. I got some berries off of its bush that were good and its leaves are giving me energy as I chew them with my back teeth.

All of a sudden I hear a bellow from behind me. I dodge as someone swings something at my head. It's that Krenk guy. That buffoon. If he hadn't screamed like that when he charged me, he probably could have knocked me out and then killed me with ease.

As it is, I run. I don't have a weapon, and he's bigger and stronger than me.

I dash up a tree. I'm really not much good at climbing, but I'm betting he won't be able to go as high as me, since I'm much lighter.

I scramble, grabbing onto every branch in sight. The disgusting sticky feel of sap is coating my fingers, along with the tree goop itself. I hate how sap feels against my skin, but I have much bigger problems. Namely Krenk who seems determined to follow me all the way up.

My hand slips and I lurch dangerously.

Krenk's hand grabs my ankle.

I thrash in his grip, but I can't throw him. My mind races, calculating my options with a speed I never thought it could. I decide to take a big risk. I let my other foot slide off the branch. I'm only holding on with my hands as I kick him hard in the face. Reeling, he lets go of me and grabs the tree in an attempt to keep his balance.

I keep my hands gripped painfully tightly on the branch and savagely kick his hands with the toe of my shoe. In pain he is forced to let go of my foot, and I deliver another desperate kick to his chest with both feet.

Krenk is knocked back and for an oddly stretched moment he tips backward. Then he gives a curdling scream and falls backwards out of the tree.

I hear the dead thud as he hits the forest floor, paired with sharp crack. I draw my legs back up onto the branch. I hang there for a moment for three reasons. One, I'm so stunned that if I try to move now I'll probably fall off the tree too. Second, I'm afraid that Krenk's only faking death. Lastly, because I'm afraid that he's not faking.

I collect myself and climb slowly down to salvage whatever I can. I stare at Krenk, whose neck is bent at an inhuman angle. Nope. He's not faking. I'm ashamed to admit I'm glad. I pull off his vest, shirt and pants. I grab his partially eaten pack of crackers and his sewing kit.

Then I run. I don't want to face the cold, dead, evidence of what I'm already starting to become.

**Rhiattany Hurli, District 9**

I climb down from my tree. I can't stay here a minute longer. My stomach is growling so loud that it'll give me away if anyone comes around. I swing down and land with a thud. I freeze, ears straining. I'm sure nobody knows I went up the tree yesterday, but it never hurts to be careful. I pull up a handful of grass and stick it in my mouth just so I'll have something to chew on. It's hard to chew grass; it's so stringy and tough.

And now I walk.

After an agonizing amount of time I can't even begin to attempt at measuring, I find a fruit tree. I recognize the fruit as apples. I must have eaten ten on my train ride here. I can't believe my luck. It's probably the only fruit tree in the arena. I grab one apple and sink my teeth into it while I stuff three more down my shirt in case I need to get out of the area fast.

I feel ready now, somehow. I may be young, but I've got all the food I'll need for weeks on this beautiful, beautiful tree. And like I said in my interview, I'm a fast learner. Nobody in this arena will be able to learn faster how to throw a knife, climb a tree, anything. I can do this.

But I wish I had a napkin. This apple is really juicy.

**Drai Brister, District 11**

I fall onto the girl, whose name I don't know. She shrieks. Now everyone knows where we are. I squeeze her throat hard. She bucks under my weight, desperately fighting. She digs her fingernails into my legs, which I'm using to pin down her arms at the shoulders. She's strong. I'm beginning to think that I'll never manage to suffocate her. But no, her struggles are stilling.

She knows she can't escape now, so she stares me in the eyes. I try to avoid looking at her, because when I see the light fading in her eyes it remind me what I'm doing. Killing a person.

She goes limp. I wait for a moment in case this is a last-ditch trick. After a few moments I release her and feel her throat for a pulse. Zilch. I look at the purple, almost necklacey bruise on her throat, framed by tangled dirty blond hair.

She has no supplies on her, so I leave. I'm through here.

**Jiminy Frank, District 8**

I curl up in my cave with my one knife and my loaf of bread. It's refined and soft, so I figure it's from District 1. I inhale the smell deeply. It may very well be the best and last bread I ever eat. The anthem begins, announcing the evening's role call of the dead. I slip outside so I can see the sky and wait silently.

"Krenk White." A picture of that guy from 1. I'm glad he's gone. He's big and strong. Or was.

"Braedi Tandey." One of the girls. I don't remember what district she's from. She looks really young. I think she's older than she seems. I hope she is. It's not fair for the really young kids to be here.

What am I _saying_?!

It's not fair for any of us to be here! We're a bunch of kids; only one of us even fought in the rebellion we're supposedly paying for! All of a sudden I can't stand it anymore and I start beating the wall of my cave.

"That's a waste of energy, you know." Someone says from behind me.

I whirl around, yanking my knife out of my boot.

"Calm down, Sparky, I'm not going to off you. We're all in this together, no matter what the Capitol says."

The speaker moves into the moonlight, and I see that it's Wrianin, the kid that fought with the rebellion. I don't lower my knife.

"Get out of here or I'll kill you." I spit at him. I'm bluffing. He's got a wicked sword and I probably couldn't get close enough to touch him.

He knows I can't deliver on my threat, "Cranky, aren't you Sparky?"

"Shut up. Don't call me that." I growl.

"What's got you so mad?"

"People like you who went and got us all punished. Who got our homes bombed. Who got all of us sent into this arena."

He raises an eyebrow, then lowers it as realization dawns.

"Oh…You're mad at the rebels."

"Just a bit, genius." I snap.

He shakes his head. "Why? We can't just duck our heads quietly and let the Capitol exploit us forever."

"Why not? When we were 'ducking our heads' we weren't dying by the tens of thousands or being forced to kill each other in an arena."

"Have you killed anybody yet?"

"No."

"Me neither. So, technically, the Capitol hasn't made us kill anyone."

I glare at him. How can he say that? Maybe we haven't killed anybody, but somebody did; we've already lost three people. And it's because they were forced into this, which is because of the rebellion, which is the rebels' fault. How can he just stand there and not hate himself?

"Look Sparky, you don't like the Capitol, do you?"

I look at him, unsure where he's going with this.

"Well, I'll take that as a no. Well, me neither. So why don't we help each other? It makes sense. We can take shifts sleeping, share food, watch each other's backs. Maybe we can even get a big group together. If we band together, refuse to kill, we can beat the Capitol at their own Game."

My mouth is hanging open. I can't believe what I'm hearing. He's crazy. "Forget it! You're completely insane! How do I know you won't stab me the second I turn my back?"

"Why would I do that? You know I hate the Capitol more than anything. That's why I fought with the rebels. If I kill you, I'm giving in to them. So I won't. In fact, I should probably be worried about you, since you hate me so much for fighting. So, deal?"

He puts down his sword and holds out his hand.

I think hard. He's probably telling the truth when he says he's not going to kill me. He doesn't want to bend to the Capitol's will. And besides, he fought with the rebels, so a smaller rebellion like refusing to kill would be right up his alley. He also raises a lot of good points. Two heads are better than one, especially when the other nineteen want to kill you. But still, I hate the rebels for doing this to us, for upsetting the already unpleasant balance. There's no way I'm going to be able to get over the fact that he's a rebel, but then again, maybe I can try to work around it. After all, my political opinions matter less than my life.

"I won't shake your hand. But deal."

_Day three._


	3. Enemies

**A/N**- What I've been hearing is that the District 9 specialty is hunting. However, the list I used to write this story said generating electricity. So for this story, electricity it is. Now, enjoy!

**Chapter 3**

**To Liscan, District 3**

I stare up at the moon. It's huge and familiar. I feel tears beginning to well up in my eyes and choke them back. I will not cry. Not now, not ever. But especially not now. I can't cry, because then I'll look vulnerable. This is no place for vulnerability. Even if I don't want to be here, I am. So I need to keep up my cocky attitude.

I steel myself. It's always harder to be brave at night, when my mind is active instead of my body. But I'm going to do it. Because I really can do this.

No. I will. Not can. Will.

I tighten my fingers around my bow and lay out a game plan for tomorrow morning. I'm ready for this. Here I come. Day three.

Pippa Fawn, District 10

I brush my hair out after a good night's sleep. I don't believe that this is really true. There's just no way. Not that I'm stupid enough to think I'm dreaming or something unrealistic and cliché like that. Just that I'm not going to die here. They'll let us out any time.

So I'm not stupid, just really, really, really, naive.

I can't honestly say that I believe that either, though. It's more like I'm burying myself in a fantasy. It can't last, I know, but it's still so nice to pretend.

But even though I'm trying to maintain a state of denial, three people are dead.

I splash some water from the jug I found on my face. A waste, but I need to brace myself. I smooth my loose fitting black pants and straighten the long-sleeved green shirt. I stretch and set off on a hunt for resources to supplement my dried mangos and water jug.

I hook the plastic jug's handle through my belt so it's hands-free and set off. I push a slice of mango into my mouth and suck the sugar off. Not nutritious, but tasty. I wonder why the Capitol even sent dried mangos into the arena in the first place. It's not practical at all.

I walk in relative silence. I can hear my feet padding faintly but I don't think that anyone else can. This is actually…relaxing. It's so quiet. I've got nowhere to go, no noisy animals to tend.

You might think that growing up in District 10 where we tend all of the livestock would make me into an animal lover. Well, it's done the opposite. I know the ugly side of animals. Bites, poop, diseases, births, fights, butchering days. And they smell. So it's nice that the only animals around are a few birds singing in the trees. Birds I like. Just not turkeys, chickens, or any other meat birds.

I'm not used to walking long distances and so my feet are quickly becoming sore. After what feels like a bit less than an hour I decide to take a break. I know, it's sad how quickly I tire, but I'll gain endurance.

For a few minutes I sit in complete stillness. I make no noise, listening for a telltale snap of a stick or rustle of leaves. Nothing.

I sit with my back against a tree and pull my shoes and socks off. I tangle my toes into the soft green grass. I lean my head against the thick tree trunk and close my eyes.

All of a sudden I'm laughing hysterically. But silently, of course, so as not to announce to anybody else where I am.

It's just so absurd. Here I am in a Capitol-devised murder weapon, and I'm sitting around relaxing like I'm on vacation. Which is how I refer to sick leave. But anyway, it's like vacation without the stomach flu.

I clutch my stomach, sore from laughter. I wipe a few stray tears from my eyes and just watch the clouds for a moment.

After a few minutes I set off again. I know a bit about plants from feeding the animals. My mom loved to show off her knowledge of plants, "Careful not to eat that, it's poisonous!" "Only give the animals that when they're sick. It helps to raise their immune systems, but it's mighty scarce." "But that's delicious! Why are we wasting it on cattle?" and so forth. I'm hoping that I'll see something I recognize as edible. If not I can set up some kind of trap. I learned a bunch of different snares for capturing escaped livestock. They were all designed to capture and not kill them of course so I'll still have to deal with butchering them. I'll also need some rope to set them up in the first place. I think I saw some among the plunder in the clearing but I have no idea who got a hold of it. So I'll need to just rob everyone I pass until I find it.

I frown. Weird doesn't even begin to describe that sentence. Or anything that's happened to me in the last week. Having my name drawn from that glass ball, coming to the Capitol. The food, technology, insane luxury. The parade on chariots, the interview in front of all of Panem. The crazy, animal themed costumes.

The arena.

No. Weird cannot describe the arena. Neither can cruel. Or dangerous. Or frightening or outrageous. The arena defies words.

**Buddy Zody, District 9**

I must admit I'm impressed. I thought the kid would have died right away. But it's the third day and Rhiattany hasn't been in the sky. Well, a round of applause. I gnaw slowly on a lump of cheese. I'm so lethargic. I hardly even care anymore.

There's no way I'm coming out of this alive. So many of the others have an advantage because of their district specialties. The District 11 kids know edible plants; the kids from 7 are strong from wielding axes all these years. But in District 9 all we learned how to do is run the electricity generators. There's nothing here that can produce electricity so the only thing I've learned in my sixteen years that could possibly be useful is don't stand under a tall tree during a thunderstorm.

I know I'm not getting anywhere. There's so many who are actually formidable: To, Wrianin, the District 11 girl. Okay, so maybe not the District 11 girl, though she looks pretty strong for a girl. I'm just a bit preoccupied with her, I must admit. I don't remember her name but I remember her face. She's gorgeous.

I roll over and curl up to go to sleep. If somebody killed me right now I wouldn't even care.

**Aria Lyemann, District 5**

My extra clothes are nice at night, but a bit of a pain to lug around during the day. A bug skittles by. I recognize it as an edible species, but there is absolutely no way I'm eating that. I walk aimlessly, accompanied by the song of birds.

Wait. The birds have gone silent. It's a warning sign. Immediately I look for a tree I can climb. There. I walk slowly, quietly, looking around for whatever silenced those birds.

I hear a growl. It's some kind of wild animal. I can't stand my slow speed, and I give in and sprint for the tree.

A pair of wolves burst out less than three hundred feet behind me. I'm still not at that tree, and they run much faster than me.

I can hear their paws thudding now, just as I reach the tree. I more or less run straight up the trunk in my terror. I lose my momentum quickly while the wolves are jumping, snapping at my heels. But they can't climb, and I'm only getting farther and farther away. My hand slips for a terrifying moment. I curse at myself. I'm not good enough at climbing trees to keep going up them so fast.

The tree is tapering off now. I don't trust myself to go any higher, so I sit carefully on a fairly thick branch. The wolves whine and circle the tree, but they can't follow me up. I grin in relieved ecstasy. Even though these are animals and not humans, I can't help but stick my tongue out at them.

My smile drops off as they redouble their efforts. I could swear they're angry.

I expect them to leave fairly soon and pursue other prey, but after a time realization begins to set in. These wolves want to kill me, and they seem mighty patient. For the second time in as many days I'm up a tree with death knocking at my door.

Well, I can't do much but sit and hope. So I do. But it's so strange, the way these wolves are acting. Even as the sun goes down they keep circling. I'm really getting scared now. I draw my legs up onto the branch, afraid to leave them hanging out into the darkness.

The anthem plays. The seal is projected by the screen, but no faces. No robotic voice announcing names. So no one died today. That's good. But I bet the people in the capitol are unsatisfied. Well, they can have as much fun as they want at my expense if it gives us all some room to breathe. And I bet they are having fun with this. Poor old Aria, up a tree again.

Yep. It's just hilarious.

_Day four._

****

I wake with a start, lucky that I haven't fallen off the branch. I glance down through the branches and nearly scream with frustration. The wolves are still circling, like they probably have all night and will all day.

Then I notice movement through the branches. One of the other girls whose name I don't remember. Sorry, I think.

She's backing away silently, all her attention focused on the wolves and escaping their notice. The wind must be in her favor if they haven't scented her yet. I slowly pull a pinecone off the tree and take aim. Lucky I'm a good pitcher. I throw the pinecone and it hits her in the face.

She yelps in surprise, then freezes as she realizes what she's done. The wolves spin around, growl and charge her.

I slip out of the tree ignoring her screams of terror as the wolves pursue her. I sprint as far as I can, then as I run out of breath I head up another tree.

The screams change to ones of pain, and adrenaline pulses through me. I wish I could harness that energy, run faster all the time, think more clearly, feel exhilarated. The screams slow and grow quieter, and so does my rush. The fading leaves the girl dead and me winded.

I stay here for a while, to give the wolves time to eat and then lose interest in their new kill and head off looking for another victim. Then I jump down. I stayed fairly close to her body and it hasn't really been that long since the kill, so they probably haven't come in to collect yet. I cautiously follow her crazed path through the forest. I reach the body…

…And find that I'm not the first one here.

A redheaded girl I vaguely remember is crouched over the corpse. She looks up, alerted by some noise I made in my surprise. She has the dead girl's beef strips and staff with a metal-capped end. She stands slowly, not breaking my gaze. Her strange green-brown eyes are empty of everything but caution. She pats the dead girl's pockets again without looking down, roots out a packet of matches. Apparently the body is otherwise clean and she backs out without saying a word.

I figure that was the real reason that the Capitol didn't come in to collect the body. Because she was here cleaning it out. She did a great job, too. After a few minutes I decide that she isn't coming back and set to salvaging. The only thing I get my hands on is the girl's blood. The wolves ripped her up pretty bad.

I stand and jog as quietly as I possibly can away from the scene. I'm more than ready to get out of this part of the forest. Goodbye and good riddance.

**Eulkichu Dambis, District 12**

I'm glad of the compass I plundered on the first day. It doesn't feed me, or defend me, but it does help me keep my bearings. It makes me feel more confident, more in control. It's keeping me calm.

I flip it shut, head West to where I found that clear stream. The water's good for drinking even without purification. Potable, by the way, is the word for water you can drink. I check to make sure that my knives are all in place. Four in my vest, one in my belt, a knife in each of my boots. Yep. All seven. I pat my vest pocket and stick my compass in. As an afterthought, I pull the knife out of my belt before heading out. It would have been stupid to just head out undefended. And anybody here is only too ready to take advantage of stupid.

Well, maybe not anybody, but anybody who's going to get home.

I set out walking. We've all been doing a lot of that. Walking around, keeping our heads down, trying to avoid fights. I bet the Capitol's disappointed that we haven't turned into rabid murderers.

But we're not. The very worst of us, like To, are determined. And it just goes to show you that no matter how strong the Capitol says it is, it still can't manipulate a group of kids.

But I'm sure they'll find ways. Only, what, three people have died? That sounds right. Next time they'll have something up their sleeves to stop things from slowing down. So I guess it's better to be forced into the first Games than one better thought out, better controlled.

And I'm sure there'll be more. It's what the Capitol said. A lot of people think that the Capitol citizens will lose their stomach for blood sport. That they won't be able to handle the gore and misery in their cushioned little world. I think people are underestimating their lust for blood.

It's sick you know, how happy everyone was to have a bunch of kids kill each other. And they're never going to get over it. 'Cause they're cruel.

But I guess they're going to make us cruel too. Something's got to give, you know? We can only avoid each other for so long 'til we start to run out of food. Then we'll do whatever we have to, I'm sure. I know I don't want to starve here. I can't think of anybody who does.

I check my compass. Yep. I'm still headed west. I decide to hunt a bit on the way. Or try to. I've never done it before, but I've got some great new knives, and all the time in the world to get in some target practice.

I stop walking and aim at a tree. It takes a while (Okay, who am I kidding? It takes forever), but I manage to hit the trunk with the blade. I take a few more shots before going on again. I move with embarrassing slowness but in complete silence. I still can't fool the wildlife, though. I spot a rabbit, its ears perked up to observe me. I take aim and throw. I hit it, but not hard enough for the knife to actually break the skin. Or fur. Whatever. The point is, the rabbit runs off, startled but uninjured. Oh well.

I retrieve my knife and keep throwing as I walk. Eventually, I actually manage to make it stick in a tree. Now I'm in business. While the others eat up all the food from the clearing I'll be offing bunnies. Now I feel cruel. Just kidding. It's great, and besides, I haven't managed to kill anything yet.

I check my compass again. I'm still going west. Huh. I thought I'd be there by now. I guess I went farther from the stream than I thought.

Because I'm not paying attention I almost walk straight into the clearing. What stops me is a bright glint, the kind you only get from sunlight on metal.

I backpedal and hide behind a tree. I slip to my stomach and slither forward to crouch behind a bush.

The twelve-year-old girl is crouched sifting through a pile of what I think are nuts. The sun is warm on her hair, which is blond, but that doesn't explain the glint I saw. Maybe it was just sun on my compass. Actually, she looks unarmed. I'm considering a few stomach turning options when something flies out of the trees. An arrow, headed straight to her back. By chance, she shifts at the last moment and it buries itself into her shoulder instead. She shrieks in pain. For a moment she grasps at her shoulder, then comes to her senses and realizes she's got bigger problems. She runs off and out of the bushes comes To, already reloading her bow. I'm glad I didn't attack the little girl. I bet To would have killed both of us with no problem at all.

As it is, she's occupied. I head out into the clearing, scuttling like an animal. I hate being exposed, but it pays off. Turns out she did have nuts, and an apple, too. I scoop them up and keep on the way to my stream.

**Kayya McKechelle, District 11**

That poor kid.

I feel nothing but disdain for him. And he's not really a kid. He must be as old as me. But he might as well be a sniveling little brat for all the fight he put up. He practically begged me to smash a rock into his head. I obliged. Man, I hate him. I don't even understand why. Maybe because I know that deep down I'm like him. Sure I'm not getting home. I'm a pretty face, not a murderer.

I step tastefully over the evidence to the contrary and wipe my bloody rock on the grass. No effect. Death doesn't go away so easily.

I try again to wipe it off, but the red stuff only gets on my hands. I don't miss the symbolism. But I can ignore it. I leave the stupid rock and get going. I'll get a new one.

But I don't. Because the next thing I know, I'm dead.

**Murk Fascia, District 7**

I slide the knife from her back and nudge her with my foot. Dead. It's a shame. She was really fine. But such an idiot. Not only did she drop her weapon, she didn't even try to get anything from the body. Now I have two lovely fresh bodies to raid. They had a pretty good stash, too. A small carton of vitamins, cheese, a roll of bandages.

"Murk?"

I snatch up her rock and throw it in the direction of the voice. But it hits the ground instead of a person. And the speaker steps out.

It's Ankha, my District partner. Before I even know what's happening she's got her arms wrapped around me, and her face buried in my neck.

"What are you doing, Ankha?" I whisper loudly.

"Sorry." She pulls back looking sheepish, wipes her hands on her pants. "Sorry. I'm just so glad to see you."

I blink at her. I'd never expected anyone to be glad to see me in this arena. Cautious at best. Murderous at worst. So this display of fondness is definitely unexpected.

"Why? I'd never even spoken to you before the Reaping."

"I know. It's just…Someone else from home. I feel like you're more like me. That I can trust you better."

"Trusting anyone in here would be stupid, Ankha."

"Well, yeah. But…"

"But nothing. One of us has to die."

She ducks her head. I know she's seventeen, but she was so excited to see me that she seemed a lot younger. Those two braids help the image along quite a bit, too. But I can see the age slipping back into her eyes fast.

"Look. If we could both get out of here, I'd trust you, no question. And it'd be fine for you to trust me, 'cause I don't let anybody hurt my friends. But friends are only more ways for people to get hurt in here, Ankha. So let's not become friends. And let's just go our separate ways."

"We could work together. For a while."

I shake my head. "No. Sorry. And to be honest I'm hoping you die soon. So that I don't have to do it myself."

She nods. Now she doesn't look seventeen. It's not that she looks old either though. She looks timeless. Abandonment given physical form. Like she's not even human. I guess the Capitol would say she isn't, wouldn't they? They'd say she was a criminal. Which apparently is punishable by death.

I lose my resolve, and much to her surprise I give her another hug. And she returns it. It's nice to touch someone who isn't dead or trying to kill you. I don't think people appreciate that enough. I pat her hair and let go of her. I know we're never going to see each other alive again. But in the four minutes we've spoken, we've bonded. It's strong for some reason. It's too late not to get attached but I know it'll be easier if I leave now, so I do. And I leave Ankha in that clearing without a second glance.

**To Liscan, District 3**

Frustrated, I sit down. I lost Rhiattany about twenty minutes ago as well as the arrow that got lodged in her shoulder. I can't believe how slippery she is. I kick a tree. Now I've got an enemy, too. I don't think she'll forgive my shooting her. But for now I have to find new prey.

I set out paying close attention to the ground, looking for footprints. What I really find is a smoke trail. Somebody's starting a fire. I head toward it cautiously because I'm sure that if I've noticed it then others have too. Probably. Unless they're really stupid. Which would be nice, actually. But I'm getting distracted. I quickly focus my attention on the task at hand: eliminating this…obstacle to my reaching home.

Whoever this is apparently hasn't eaten lately, because they're clutching their stomach and look like they're having trouble staying conscious. I can tell that it's a girl now. Well, it doesn't matter anymore, because my arrow is already burrowed into her neck. She jolts forward, face first into her own fire. Combine her exhaustion, and pain, and she can't even pull herself out of the fire. I'm so shocked I don't move until the smell of burning flesh reaches my nose.

I run up to her fire pit and yank her backwards out of the embers and then wish I hadn't.

Her face has been hideously disfigured. Her skin is grotesque and charred. I swallow revulsion. The people in the Capitol are probably screaming in either delight or disgust.

I yank at her pockets. Nothing. No wonder she was disoriented enough to start a fire.

I abruptly drop her body and kick embers at the person who's sneaking up behind me.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Truce!" He shouts. A male voice.

"What do you mean, 'truce'?" I growl, whipping around to face him.

"Told you this would happen." Comes a sarcastic voice from behind him.

"Can it, Sparky." The first guy grumbles.

"And don't call me Sparky!"

It's another boy, younger than the first, who is about five million feet tall. Or at least six foot three.

"My name's Wrianin. The one I called Sparky is Jiminy. We know you, of course. To Liscan. Oh, and I know you're reaching for your arrow, just by the way."

I stop being stealthy and just yank it out of the corpse's neck.

"You going to kill me? Or should I kill you?"

"How about we just talk for a second."

"…Fine. You have two minutes."

"Okay. Look, me and Jiminy have-"

"Jiminy and I have."

"What?"

"Oh, never mind. Just go."

"Anyway, we teamed up at the end of the first day."

"How nice for you."

He narrows his eyes in annoyance. "And it's really helpful. You get more sleep. There's better protection. And more people who have grown up in different places bring a lot of different experiences and knowledge. If all of us kids team up, we can survive. The Capitol will have to give up eventually."

I laugh. "So when we're done skipping around hand in hand and becoming a lot of pacifists, the Capitol, who murdered tens of thousands of rebels, is going to roll over and say, 'Well, too bad. Might as well let 'em out now.' Really? You're crazy."

The younger boy steps forward. "That's pretty much what I said too. But he raises some good points in term of short-term benefits. The more of us we can group together, the better protected we'll be. Even if it's only from the other contestants. I don't really think the Capitol will free us either. But for now, we can help each other."

"And time's up." I break in. I'm estimating, of course.

"So…Will you join us?" Tries Jiminy.

I snort. "Get real." And I fade into the forest.

**Flute French, District 2**

"Huh. Tough crowd."

The boys whip around. For the whole time I've been following them, they never had any clue. Because I'm so quiet. Quiet is one thing I'm good at. Great at, really. There's an out-of-place uncomfortable silence. "So…Does your offer extend to me too? Or just the tough people? 'Cause that all sounded nice to me." I say.

Wrianin opens his mouth to speak, then closes it and frowns.

"How long you been following us, kid?" Asks Wrianin.

"I shrug. Since around…six in the morning of day two. I think. That sounds right."

They glance at each other. Wrianin gives a low whistle.

"She's good." Jiminy states unnecessarily.

"Alright, kid. You're one of the gang."

I smile. I get the feeling they would have taken me even if I hadn't been such a sneak. "Great. So who's next on our V.I.P. list?"

Jiminy shrugs. "I don't know. The plan is mostly ask whoever we happen to run into if they want an alliance. And don't die. But that's a bit of a given."

"Just a little." I agree. Wrianin swings his sword up to rest the flat of the blade on his shoulder.

"C'mon kid. And don't forget the food Sparky."

"Don't call me Sparky!"

**Rhiattany Hurli, District 9**

I curse in a very un-little girl like way as I slowly remove the arrow from my shoulder. It's buried in at least an inch. Probably more. My blood boils just thinking of that techy chick from 3. She's so awful. This whole time she's been just waiting to pick the rest of us off. Or so it seems.

I don't actually know how many of the dead are her kills, but that's not even that important. What matters is that she was after me. She attacked first, and that's an invitation.

I yank the arrowhead out of my shoulder and wrap my vest around the wound to stop the blood flow. I tie my belt around it to keep it in place and apply pressure. My belt wasn't doing anything anyway. Whoever designed our uniforms seems to have put it there just for show.

I grin, bloodthirsty, at my new weapon. I roll the arrow in my hands. It's not as deadly as it is in To's hands, held to her bow, but it will do plenty of damage if I stab someone with it.

Next time To, I'll be ready. Next time, To, you'll wish you'd picked on somebody else.

**Pippa Fawn, District 10**

I experimentally swing my staff. All the blood's been washed off, which was no mean feat. Those wolves really tore its previous owner up. I recognized her. She was the first one they interviewed. The District 1 girl, Iarea. It was harder than you'd expect to identify her. There wasn't a whole lot left to identify.

But now I have her staff, so I try to put the negatives of the situation behind me. I wonder how Aria knew the wolves were after Iarea. Oh well. It doesn't matter.

I shake my head like my dog, trying to get back to the isolated, quiet feeling. I think it might be too late now that someone's been ripped apart in front of me. That's hard to forget.

I still haven't got my hands on any rope. My belt is made of a synthetic fabric and not leather (trust me, I know leather) but it's still not long enough to suit my purposes. If only it was really, really long. And I haven't seen anybody since Aria, who looked unarmed. I'm annoyed at myself for not seizing that opportunity. It would have been easy to snatch her stuff if she couldn't defend herself, but she surprised me by showing up. Oh well. It was still a good haul.

It's become dark so slowly that it takes me tripping over a log to make me realize that I can barely see my own feet.

Panic slams into my throat. I don't have somewhere to sleep or a water source or a nearby patch or edible plants or, or, or…

I swallow hard. I need to stop freaking out at the least little thing. I have my beef strips, I can go without water till tomorrow, and I can find somewhere to sleep. Maybe.

The anthem begins to play, and the seal appears in the sky providing a little bit of light. I take advantage of this and hurry on as I wait for the names of the dead.

"Iarea Jixtings."

I already knew about her. The rest will be news to me.

"Harmony Dryer."

"Buddy Zody"

"Kayya McKechelle."

The anthem fades away, and the light with it. The highest day for casualties yet. To top off the wonderfulness of today, I again can't see where I'm going.

I carefully reach out my hands. I can see vaguely, but not well enough for real stealth. My progress is slow. Just as the panic is beginning to jailbreak out of my stomach, my hand bumps a big tree. Easily climbable branches, even for someone like me who practically falls over just looking at a tree. I plan on just camping out on a thick branch (or better but more dangerous, the moss at the base of the trunk), but as I lightly thump the trunk I find something even better. At the top of the thick tree (or large trunk, as I now know) is a hollow, like the tree was struck with lightning. It's easily big enough to hold me, and all night it does.

_Day five._


	4. The Pack

**A/N**- To help everybody keep the characters straight, I'll be including a list of remaining contestants at the end of the chapter, along with a pronunciation guide. Hope that helps.

**Chapter 4**

**Jiminy Frank, District 8**

Wrianin and I trudge through the forest. Flute has been up for most of the past couple days, trying to make sure we didn't slip away while she took a nap, so Wrianin has her riding piggyback while she sleeps.

"She needs a nickname." Wrianin announces out of the blue.

"What? Why?" I can think of a whole lot that Flute needs in here, and a nickname does not make the list.

"We're all friends in here. Friends give each other nicknames."

"Okay. She's going to think you're crazy."

"Am I?"

"Probably."

"Then what's the problem?"

"I guess. So, you have any ideas?"

"She's wicked good at sneaking around. So Sneak."

Flute twitches in her sleep and mumbles something.

"See?" Wrianin proclaimed proudly, "She likes it!"

"Or she's having a nightmare about being stabbed to death." I pointed out.

Wrianin frowns. "I named you too fast, kid. Should have called you Killjoy."

****

After about a half an hour of walking in silence or short bursts of conversation, Wrianin cocks his head. "You hear that?" He whispers.

I listen for a moment. "No."

"Well I heard something. Why don't we have our little scout go check it out?" He gently bounces Flute around on his back. "Hey, Sneak, sorry to interrupt your nap, but we need you to go do your thing."

"Sn-wha?" Flute mumbles, rubbing her eyes.

"Sneak. It's your new nickname." Wrianin informed her.

"…'Kay. What'd'ya need me to do?" She yawns as she slowly relinquishes her piggyback stance.

"I heard some funny cracking noise up ahead. Sneak up, take a peek, then come tell us what it is. And don't get yourself caught, either." Wrianin orders, like he's back in the army and Flute's one of his soldiers. I bite my lip. I'm not sure about sending her off on her own. The whole point of our trio is so we can take care of each other. But if she wants to then it's her choice.

"Alright. I'll just be a second." She's shaken off any trace of sleep now. Her eyes narrow and I swear she looks like something completely different. A small cat, maybe. She slips forward. Even though I knew she'd been following us for a long time, I'm still surprised how little noise she makes. If I had my eyes closed, I wouldn't know she was even here.

Wrianin and I watch as she slinks out of our view.

"Geez. She's like a ghost." He mutters. I wince. "Let's not talk about the dead in here," I say, keeping my voice quiet, "It's just too possible that it could happen to one of us."

"Sorry."

We wait for what seems like longer than it actually is. All of a sudden Flute appears again. Her strange, animal-like slink has been replaced by an almost-as-silent run.

Wrianin frowns. "What? What was it?"

Flute doesn't slow. For a second I almost expect her to run straight past us, but she grabs our hands as she passes and pulls us along in her wake. "What are you doing?" I hiss. She's not traveling nearly as quietly with us being dragged along.

"Wolves. Four of 'em. They're eating something, so I'm guessing that cracking Wrianin heard was bones. They were just finishing up, so I don't know if they saw me or not." My face goes blank. Wrianin could deal with a wolf on his own, I'm guessing, and Flute and me could take one together, but four is more than our band can handle.

I glance at Wrianin over Flute's head. He raises an eyebrow. I'm beginning to think taking up with Flute was one of the best ideas any of us has had in a long time.

****

"You know what?" I mumble. We've stopped for a break; I have my arm thrown across my eyes to ward off the sun as I lay on my back.

"Hmm?" Wrianin sounds mostly asleep.

"If you think nicknames are so important, why don't you have one?"

"Good point." Flute pipes up. As our lookout for the moment she's the only one not in any danger of falling asleep.

"I dunno. You guys didn't seem too keen on the whole thing. So I just didn't bring it up." He says.

"I don't mind." Flute interjects, "But you know how Jiminy feels."

"Oh no. He's not going to get out of it." I roll over and squint at Wrianin. "Now, what to call you?"

He shrugs. "Oh, maybe 'Omnipotent Leader' or 'Devilish Handsome Brute'. That'd be my suggestion." I roll my eyes. Wrianin frowns at my silence. I'm not sure if he was serious or not about the whole "Omnipotent Leader" thing.

"What about Reb? Because he fought with the rebels." Suggests Flute.

"Anything but Devilish Handsome Brute." I agree. I can practically hear Wrianin sulking.

"Fine," he grumbles, "Spoil all my fun."

Flute and I smile at each other. What a weirdo.

**Pippa Fawn, District 10**

I wake up shivering, soaked with dew. The tree hollow is the right size, but uncovered. I'm going to need something to keep the water off. I rack my brain to see if there was anything that could work back in the first day's haul. I have the niggling feeling that maybe there was but for the life of me I can't think who took it or even what it is to be perfectly honest. Besides, at this point there's no guarantee they'd have it any more anyway.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts. I'm almost out of beef, and I don't have any water at all. So supplies are my first order of business. As I set off in search of something edible I suck the salt off a dried beef strip. It's good. You'd think that someone who's spent their whole life tending animals would have had more meat, but it's just a little too expensive. And besides, most of our meat is sent to the folks in the Capitol. Just like every last thing on the whole face of Panem. But there's no point in being bitter at the moment. It's not going to help me survive.

I come across a berry bush. I hesitate. They could be poisonous, but I do need food. And I think I recognize them. I slowly reach out and pluck one berry from the bush. I squish it in my hand and touch my tongue to the juice.

The good news is I don't keel over right away. I lick my palm. Nothing. Could be that the poison's slow acting, but I don't think that's the Capitol's style. They seem to be more into the big and dramatic. I shove the berry in my mouth.

I start pulling them off a bush quickly, popping them into my mouth. They're good, sweet at first, then tangy. The problem with eating berries is that they're so small they don't fill me up as well as one would hope for the amount of effort it takes to pick them.

After I've been eating for a fairly long time I force myself to slow. I tell myself I'll need the food later, that I've had enough. But my stomach is feeling hollow the way it always does after a meal of just berries. I've tried it at home before on days when I stumble across a berry bush in one of the larger pastures. I'm never satisfied.

I wipe my mouth, leaving a purple stain on my shirtsleeve. Now for water. I've been getting along for most of the morning by painstakingly licking the dew off grass blades, but it's awful and the sun's coming up, so the dew should evaporate soon.

I shake my chin-length red hair back out of my face and set off with a sigh. It's going to be another long day.

**Drai Brister, District 11**

I stab the poor girl in the stomach. I can't believe I'm killing again. But I'm going to have to kill more to get out of this arena.

It's over quickly. At least she died fast. She has a piece of rope and some kind of grass she seems to have picked. Surprisingly I don't recognize it so it can't be something that grows back home, but if she's carrying it around it probably has some kind of importance. I stuff into my pocket. I'll figure it out later. For the moment I need to clear out and let the hovercraft pick up the body. I silently apologize to the girl's parents. They're going to be just as destroyed as she is I'm sure.

For the first time I think of my family. I bet my father has shut himself in his room. My little sister will be crying into my mother's lap. My older sister will have brought her children to my parent's place. She always thinks we can find solace, not safety, in numbers.

I wonder if the guys still play wallball every afternoon. Or maybe it feels wrong without me. I don't know. I hope not. I have enough to deal with without worrying about how everyone else feels. But on the other hand, it would be awful to not be missed. I guess I really don't know what I want. Well, I'll find out how things went down when I get home. If I don't get home then I don't really need to worry about it, now do I?

A club collides with my head.

****

I groan, rolling over painfully. My head throbs. I didn't think it was possible to feel pain when you're dead. So…I'm not dead? But that doesn't make any sense. I remember that someone hit me across the head. I was knocked…well not dead I guess. Unconscious. But all the people here strike to kill.

I sit up and a huge wave of dizziness rolls through me, shifting the ground up to the side of my face.

There's a wetness on the back of my head. I grope for it, and my hand comes away red. I try to stay calm. I think I've heard that head wounds always bleed a lot, that this is normal. I press my hand against my head, trying to slow the bleeding. Clumsily I pull off my cloth belt. I grope over to a tree trunk, rip off some moss, press it to my wound, and secure it with the belt.

So. Whoever did this; hit me and then ran away? I have a sudden thought. I grope at my pockets. It's all gone. My rope, the handful of grasses. So it was a mugging. But I'm still hung up on why I'm not dead.

I guess it's the weakness of my opponent. They're not strong enough to handle the horror of killing. Or maybe it's their strength to refuse to sacrifice goodness. It doesn't matter, but I guess I ought to be thankful. As it is I'm sore and bleeding and without supplies and _certainly_ not thankful in the least.

**Ankha Zeet, District 7**

My meeting with Murk has focused me. Well, not really. I'm still terrified and helpless. But it has been a slap in the face. I get it now. Everyone here wants to see me dead and there's nothing I can do about it.

I smack a tree trunk for no real reason. Probably because I've got nothing else to do. I don't need food and if I wander around there's every chance that I'll run into someone. So I sit there slapping my tree as the sun sets. This has been the least eventful day for me so far. I bet I've had no camera time at all tonight. Well, it doesn't really matter. I'm dirty and greasy and not close to ready for my close up.

Night runs into the pink and orange of sunset like cheap wine through water. I wait for the anthem, but still jump in surprise when it blares through the sky.

"Marta Mio." And that's it. I wonder who's burying their face into their lap for guilt tonight.

_Day six_

**Aria Lyemann, District 5**

My attempts to scream only get me a mouthful of water.

I can't believe he's doing this. Preel. My District partner. He snuck up on me and he's holding me under the river water, trying to drown me. I thrash desperately to loosen his grip, to no effect.

My eyes try to fade to black. I'm so panicked I can hardly focus. But I have to; I _have_ to, I HAVE TO! I'm going to die! I can't die! No, no, no, no, no, no, no! This can't happen! I continue writhing, mind racing, helpless.

My stomach turns as I land on one of the few options left to me. I stop my thrashing and dig my fingers into his eyes.

Preel screams in agony as I rip my hands back from his eye sockets, which now hold the remains of his eyeballs. I fight not to throw up. But my disgust is quickly replaced with something else: rage. How could he do that? Attack me? I mean, I know we can't both live, but why me? There are so many people still left in this arena and he could have hunted for other prey. And this hate boils over as I launch at him.

He hears my approach and swings fist at me. I dodge back then throw myself forward again. Even blinded after I destroyed his eyes he's a surprisingly formidable opponent. He slashes at my face with his ragged nails as I knock him to the ground. I grab his throat but he elbows my nose hard. It cracks and I squeal in pain.

I reflexively pull back and he kicks my chest with both feet. I'm knocked back into the water again and Preel pulls a long knife. He swipes at me and I splash backwards. I grab at his ankle and pull him off balance. He's knocked into the water with me.

I grab a slimy rock and smash it against the wrist of the hand that hold's Preel's knife. It falls into the water and we both scramble for it. With advantage of sight I grasp the handle. I try to stab him with it, but in the confusion I miss. He hits me hard across the face and lands heavily on top of my body.

He pins me down with himself and scrabbles for his knife. I slash his face and in desperation stab him straight in the forehead. He makes an awful noise and falls back into the river. The rage pulses before my eyes and I stab him again and again. I'm screaming awful things at him. Tears fall for every bad thing that's ever happened to me: this Game, the war, my little sister who died just a day after she was born. Things that don't have anything to do with Preel.

After a while I stop stabbing his corpse. I whip around and slash tree bark, screaming profanities at the Capitol, at the audience, at the sky, at the forest, at no one.

In a final act of crazed frustration I throw the knife into the trees. Then I remember that it's a valuable weapon and I stagger off after it, sobbing. I scoop it up with shaking hands and stumble back to Preel's body as fast as I can. The hovercraft is waiting to clean up, but retracts its claw when it sees me approach.

I grab a roll of bandages and a half empty plastic packet of honey about the size of my hand.

I can't look at him, bloody and torn, tears drying sticky against my cheeks. I'm too frightened. I can't summon the hate of minutes ago, only brokenness and fear. Of me. How can I become so bloodthirsty? When I killed Krenk it had swelled in me, the tolerance of murder. I didn't think twice about setting the wolves on Iarea. I was exhilarated when I ran. It felt…good. I feel bile rising in my throat. All it took was one more kill and I turned into a raving madwoman. I didn't just kill Preel, I decimated his body. What's wrong with me? I loop my hair around my fingers, pulling as hard as I can to distract myself with my own pain. I stumble off, my hands still in my loose, wet, bloody hair. I'm a murderer. Not just a killer. A murderer. I could have run instead of attacking a blinded opponent. But I didn't. I didn't destroy him to defend myself. I murdered him in cold blood.

A murderer.

**Wrianin Abro, District 6**

"So. You in?" The kid shuffles his feet, looking at our quartet. We picked up another member, the District 3 boy, who I dubbed Tech. Because they make technology electronic gadgets in 3.

It's funny. We seem to be finding more boys than girls. Actually, our only girl recruit really found us. Maybe the guys aren't being as careful to hide. It's probably some sort of testosterone thing.

Our potential recruit licks his lips and glances around again. Probably thinks we'll kill him if he says no.

"Okay."

I slap him on the back and he jumps in surprise. "Great! What's your name, kid?"

He glares at me. "Aramis."

"Oh. I remember you. You told off Tsepelia. For calling you Narcis." Sparky puts in. Narcis turns his glare on Jiminy.

"You're not my friend either. Don't call me Narcis." He hisses.

I step between the two of them. "Now, that's where you're wrong, Narcis."

He growls.

"We're all friends here. We don't have to like each other, but we're still friends in crisis. Nobody's getting outta here without friends to help them. And that's why we all have nicknames. To show we're a group. Meet Sparky, Sneak, Tech, and me. Reb. Now we just need to figure out what to call you."

"I don't want a stupid nickname."

"Part of the deal, buddy."

Sneak tilted her head. "He's got really red hair. What about Red?"

I nod. "Sounds good."

Red stares at us in disgust.

I clap my hands, but am careful not to actually make any noise. "All right gang. Let's head out." The older members of the group go through the routine like clockwork. They pick up their supplies; break into two groups: leaders and people to cover our back. I slap Red on the back. "Let me explain how we do things 'round here."

Red scowls. I'm beginning to see a pattern here.

**Disha Lawrence, District 4**

Drai and I walk in silence. Always in silence. We refuse to become friends because we know this "alliance" has to give out at some point. So we only talk when absolutely necessary. And we never ever talk about anything related to our personal selves in any way whatsoever. Our total conversation for the past couple of hours has literally been: "You got my canteen?" "Yeah." "I need it." And then he rummaged in our backpack for the canteen.

When I ran into him in the forest he was bleeding and disoriented. It was not easy to decide whether or not to trust each other. I know we both would have preferred not. But I can't fight (something I've decided not to tell Drai) and he needs my stuff. Which I have a lot of.

I don't think either of us slept last night, what with being afraid the other would kill us in our sleep. But for now we're useful to each other so we'll both leave the other be.

We sit down to a campfire to roast a trio of squirrels.

"Who do we need to get rid of?" Drai asks abruptly.

I look up. I'd never thought of assembling a hit list. My plan had been to just do what feels right, I guess. I shrug.

"To, I guess. And that rebel dude, he looked pretty strong. I don't know of anybody else right off the bat."

Drai stares into the flames we have stoked. He stands up with a throwing knife in hand and starts turning in circles. Making sure no one who sees our fire gets the jump on us.

I spear the squirrels on the stick and brace it against a rock. I begin to throw the head, feet, and entrails into the fire, then stop. They could make good bait. I shove my matches into one of our three backpacks. I'm still stunned at the huge haul I got from the plunder in the clearing. If people had been more organized I would never have gotten all this. If they'd been more aggressive, they probably would have just stolen it. But as it is, I have food, water, a tent, medicine…If only I could defend myself. Because my stuff can only get me so far.

I pick up the stick with the squirrels on it and hold it near the embers where it's hottest. I want to cook this thing fast. As I do that, I fumble in the green backpack for the containers I found. I have five or six glass jars, two of which have purified water in them. I put the squirrel pieces in one and leave one out. When I'm done I'll stick some embers in it. A hand warmer for later. Maybe.

All of a sudden Drai bolts off. I sit there for a moment, mindlessly pulling the well-cooked squirrels from the flames. He left. He's stolen my knife and gone, even before he ate. He could have waited until tonight and made off with whole backpacks. How stupid.

I shake my head at my own stupidity as well. An ally in this arena. Right. I pick up the spear I've been carrying for show. I'll have to wield it for real now.

I can't honestly say I feel betrayed, because trust has to come before betrayal. But I do feel…resigned. He's just proved everything I ever expected about my fellow contestants. I start to pack up. Gotta get out of here.

I hear footsteps approaching and spin around, swiping embarrassingly at the noise.

Drai swears in surprise. "Whadoyathinkyou're_do_ing?!" He shouts, annoyance turning the words into a long slur.

I look at him with narrowed eyes. What nerve. "What, the knife's not enough? You come back to steal more and you don't even expect me t' be mad? Ha-ha. _Riiight_." I'm stuttering, mad, too, and maybe not even making much sense.

He looks at me with disdain. "I went chasing another kid, idiot. Somebody who was sneaking up on our camp. It was my job to keep everybody else away. I just chased whoever it was until I lost track of them. Calm down."

So he hasn't turned on me. It doesn't mean that he won't.

We share the squirrels and water as we walk away, but conversation has ceased completely. We've given up on being friends.

**Eulkichu Dambis, District 12**

I shove my greasy hair out of my eyes. I've tried washing it in the stream, but it just doesn't seem to be getting the grease out. The stream is still a godsend, with its crystal clear water and lazy fish. I had quite the time trying to get back to the stream. I've passed quite a few people none of whom seem to have had any idea I was there. One huge group and a bunch of lone travelers. I considered fighting all of them (except the big bunch. I have no idea what I'm going to do about them) but always decided that water was more important. Some of them looked pretty dehydrated. And besides, I don't have to fight yet. I can wait and let others do as much of the dirty work as possible.

I chew a piece of raw fish. Wish I had blankets. I don't think it gets below freezing at night or anything, but still. Nothing makes me feel more secure at night than a nice, warm blanket. With perhaps the exception of my large number of knives.

I allow my thoughts to wander. It's strange, these times when I'm not afraid. Maybe it's because I know that most of the people here are too hesitant to kill.

But not all of them.

**Flute French, District 2**

"Fenn!" I exclaim. I'm glad to see him, (him being my District partner, Fenn Zete) but unfortunately he does not reciprocate. His eyes are sunken, and he looks so skinny I wonder if he's eaten in the last couple days.

As always I've been sent to scout ahead, due to my especial skills. Now that there's five of us, we have two leaders, two people to protect the leaders' flanks, and me. Advance Scout Extraordinaire. Or at least that's what Wrianin said. He's weird, but still a really good guy to have on your side.

When I shout Fenn's name his head snaps up and he instantly panics.

He runs off. I dash after him, but he's a lot faster than my stealth run.

Now, if I were smart, I would let him go and just go report to Wrianin. But I can't. He's my partner from home and he needs my help. Definitely. He looks so hungry and scared. Even though he's a little bit older than me (I'm thirteen, he's a few months past fourteen) I feel like I need to protect him. I abandon silence and break into an all-out sprint. I'm being reckless, crashing through underbrush, but I hardly care. For some reason I'm determined that he won't get away from me.

I'm losing sight of him among the trees. I dig deeper, running faster than I ever thought I could. I leap over a fallen log, but its stub of a branch catches my toes. I slam forward into the forest floor. For the most part my fall is broken by the humus on the ground, but my knee slams hard into a rock and my palm hits a sharp stick.

I grunt in pain. Both my hand and my knee feel like they're bleeding. They both hurt enough, anyway. I look at my hand, which it turns out really is bleeding.

I moan and stagger to my feet. I run off after Fenn again, most of my speed sucked into the pain in my knee. I try to ignore it, and limp-run faster. I'm frustrated. Not only did he get ahead of me when I fell, but now there's no way I'll even catch him, no siree, not at this speed.

I've lost him in the tree trunks, which are beginning to thin out. After a few hundred feet the trees have gone from so thick I couldn't wrap both arms around one to about as thick as an orange and are sparse enough that I can see what's past the forest's edge. I can't believe it! My luck, that is. There's a huge rocky pile at the very edge of the forest. I don't know what you'd call it. It's not quite a hill or a bluff. It's obviously engineered. Fenn's foot has become trapped under a rock the size of the average dog. I guess he tried to climb the pile and it fell. Whatever the reason, now I can trust that Fenn's not going to run while I talk to him. Of course, he might also be hurt, but we can deal with that back in the group, once he joins us. Which I'm determined that he will.

I slow. He's almost frantic with fear, scrabbling for something wooden in his back pocket.

I hold out my hands and speak softly, like I'm approaching a flighty animal. "It's ok, Fenn. I don't want to hurt you. If-"

He whips the wooden thing, a slingshot out of his pocket, and I have barely enough time to dodge his projectile. "Don't shoot! I'm trying to-"

But he cuts me off again. I dive to the side as he shoots a rock from the base of the pile at me. I make a split-second decision and dive at him. We struggle for control of his slingshot, and I manage to wrestle it from his grips and roll away with nothing worse than a bloody nose.

I pant, wiping my face on my sleeve. In my annoyance it takes me a few moments to realize that Fenn's crying, sure that I'm going to murder him. Slowly I put down his slingshot.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, Fenn." I say. I take a couple steps forward, until Fenn looks like he's about ready to pass out from fear. Then I sit down with a bump. "I'm part of a big group. We work together and protect each other. I was trying to tell you when you ran away. You can join if you want."

He looks at me. His face has pale streaks where his tears have washed off the dirt of the last six days. "You- you- can't do that. The Capitol…wants us to kill each other." He's starting to get himself back under control now.

I look at him solemnly. "We're not going to let the Capitol make us hurt anybody. We just won't do it. Wrianin said that they'll have to let us out eventually."

"Wri- Who?"

"He's the leader of our group. The one who fought with the rebels."

"And he thinks they'll let us go?"  
"Yeah."

"Do you?"

"…I trust Wrianin." I can't think of anything else to say to convince him to join us, so I decide to just run with it. "So…You wanna join us?"

I stick out my hand, and to my annoyance the horrified look comes across his face again. I mean, I know that all fourteen-year-old boys are supposedly afraid of girls, but honestly, am I _that_ scary?

Then I realize he's looking over my shoulder.

I slowly turn around to see the wolves slinking out of the forest, crouched low, ready for a kill.

I size up our odds. There are three wolves. There are two of us humans. All of the wolves have claws and lots of mighty sharp teeth. We have Fenn's slingshot and a pile of rocks. The wolves are strong, fast. We are a couple of kids in our early teens not trained in combat, one of whom can't stand or move. They can smell fear. We are scared.

They will win. We will die.

But not without a fight. Ever so slowly I slide Fenn's slingshot to him with my foot. He takes it silently. I bend to pick up a rock. I should have taken the knife Reb told me I could have.

Reb! And Jiminy! Maybe all the others have gotten close enough to help. But I just know that these wolves will attack the second I make any noise. But I don't think I have a choice. They're going to attack sooner or later, so I may as well have reinforcements coming.

"Reb! Jiminy!" I scream, and a wolf launches itself at me.

**A/N**- Yes, I have resorted to a cliffie. Nasty little things, cliffhangers. Don't worry, the next chapter should be up very soon. And now for the remaining contestants and the phonetic spellings of their names.

District 1: None

District 2: Fenn Zete (Fen Zet)

Flute French (I don't _really_ need to explain this one, right?)

District 3: Audio Lome (Aw-dee-oh Loam)

To Liscan (Toe Liss-can)

District 4: Disha Lawrence (Disha Lore-ence)

District 5: Aria Lyemann (Ah-ree-uh Lie-man)

District 6: Wrianin Abro (Ree-anne-in Ah-bro)

District 7: Murk Fascia (Merk Fay-scha)

Ankha Zeet (Onk-uh Zeat)

District 8: Jiminy Frank (Jim-in-ee Fraynk)

District 9: Rhiattany Hurli (Ree-uh-taw-nee Hurley)

Distict 10: Narcis Aramis (Nawr-siss Air-uh-miss)

Pippa Fawn (Pih-puh Fawn)

District 11: Drai Brister (Dray Brisster)

Distict 12: Eulkichu Dambis (Ul-kitch-oo Dam-biss)


	5. Peace and Quiet

**Chapter 5**

**Flute French, District 2**

I roll away, throwing my rock with bad aim. I fumble for another one, and toss that too. This one hits home, but not hard enough to hurt the wolf. It pulls back, but only with annoyance. The other two are advancing toward Fenn, who's doing his best to keep them at bay with only his slingshot. He's good, but the wolves are still getting closer. I wish that I had my backpack to swing at the wolf, but even I move faster unburdened. So I left it with Tech.

I scramble back again; tossing everything I've got at the wolf. Which is mostly restricted to some potato sized rocks. I need a plan here! I have to figure out some way to defend Fenn, whose leg is still stuck under the rock.

I pick up another rock and throw it at one of the wolves circling Fenn. "Tech! Red!" Why aren't they here?

Fenn shouts in pain and clubs the nearest wolf with his slingshot. His free leg is bleeding heavily. _This is it. We're going to die._ Is all I can think. But I don't understand. Where are the others?

Wrianin barrels out of the forest just as one of the wolves launches itself at me. It knocks me backward and lunges at my neck. I throw up my arms and the wolf sinks its teeth into the flesh a few inches below my elbow. I scream, and all of a sudden the weight of the wolf is lifted off me as someone sends it flying through the air.

Tech glares at the surprised animal and shoulders his heavy club (a.k.a.-branch) as he helps me to my feet. He hands me the knife I should have taken earlier. "You okay? Other than the arm, I mean."

I nod. "I'll be okay. But it's bleeding a lot." I add as we turn into our practiced fighting stance. The two of us stand back to back, and Jiminy and Narcis do the same over where they stand. Wrianin can hold his own.

"Tech- Sneak- You guys take that one over there. Red- Sparky- get the small one." Wrianin orders. We spring into action.

Tech distracts our wolf, which seems to be annoyed that he whacked it with a stick. I circle behind it, ready to stab it with my knife. I lunge and dig the poisoned blade deep into the wolf's flank. It yelps and rounds on me, yanking my knife out of my hand. It tenses to leap again, before Tech crushes its skull.

The other two wolves have been chased off with none of my friends the worse for wear. Jiminy pulls some cloth bandages and throws a length to Wrianin to wrap up Fenn's leg. It makes something in the depths of my stomach ache. These are good people. Fenn is an enemy, at least as far as they know, but they still don't give a second thought to helping him. Why did the Capitol do this to us?

Jiminy crouches and starts to wrap some of the remaining bandages around my arm and my hand, which I had completely forgotten about in the scuffle.

"Are you going to be alright?" Jiminy asks.

"Yeah. I'll be fine." I assure him, even though I'm beginning to feel light-headed. From blood loss, I guess. I should feel better later, so I decide not to worry him. He's started to take on the role of an older brother. One that I actually like.

He ties off the bandage and examines me critically. "You look alright." He jerks his chin toward Fenn, who is still under the rock. "Who's that guy?"

"My district partner," I explain, "Fenn."

"Huh. I guess we ought to go let him out then."

****

After we let Fenn out he really didn't take much convincing. Once we gave him lunch he was more than ready to join our group. I was glad. Everybody but Red got quite a laugh out of watching Fenn rip into the pork we gave him. When Reb began calling him Rocky, it was official.

I felt kinda proud of myself, getting Fenn to join us. Like I was protecting him. Wrianin, Jiminy and I curl up to sleep in a triangle, which has quickly become our habit.

We lay on our backs, waiting for the anthem. When it comes, so does a boy's face. "Preel Bart." The computer voice announces. Reb sighs sadly to himself and mutters something.

"Well, night."

"Night."

"Night."

_Day seven_

**Rhiattany Hurli, District 9**

I rub my eyes. Day…seven, is it? A whole week in this arena. How many are left? At first I try to count in my head, but I give up. I've been trying so hard to ignore the death toll that I can't think it up for the life of me now.

I pull an apple off my tree. It's a lifesaver. Even though I know it's dangerous to stay in one place, I've decided that the risk is worth it. I never leave my apple cores lying around; I go to the bathroom a mile away. I've taken every precaution except leaving.

Even though apples were such a novelty at first, they don't seem as special anymore. Not that I'm ungrateful. But still, I find myself craving one of those oranges I ignored on the ride to the Capitol.

I chew my apple ever so slowly, making sure to chew with absolute silence.

It makes me want to scream, this silence. It's suffocating me! Even more than I want an orange I want to be able to talk, sing, walk without having to make sure that my footfalls can't be heard. If I get out of here, nobody will ever get me to shut up ever again.

I climb back up a tree, where I spend most of my planning time. I've been thinking a lot lately, trying to think up some kind of plan. I haven't come up with anything really genius yet. My plans are mostly ways to ambush To. But as much as I hate her, I have to admit that she's clever. I am going to need something that qualifies as genius to catch her. But I'm determined that even if I die here, To will too.

I scratch a gouge in the bark. I'm going to come up with something. To started a war when she shot me, and I am going to end it.

**Pippa Fawn, District 10**

I stretch, yawn. Every morning is like this. I wake up, wet and cold from dew, but alive. Very much appreciated. I really need to find something to cover my hollow, though. I let myself down gently. It's about a two-foot drop from the top of the stump. It's not hard to get down, but since there aren't any branches on the tree, I have a hard time getting up into it. Hopefully, everyone else will too.

I swing my staff as I stretch out, preparing for a long trek to find more resources. I can never have too many food sources.

The strange, relaxed solitude has seduced me again. I can feel the peace stealing over me. I'm sure that it's stupid, but it's a heck of a lot better than being preoccupied with the idea of being brutally murdered by somebody my own age, still a scared kid. What's sad is that some of the people here aren't even my age yet.

I shake my head. My brain has a fuzzy disconnected feeling, so much so that shaking my head is all the opinion I can offer.

I fiddle with the rope I stole from the District 11 boy. It was a perfect symbol for this whole Game. He was standing over his new dead body, and I snuck up behind him and clubbed him. Like one of those pictures that have a whole bunch of fish swimming in a row, mouths open to eat each other. I've always hated those pictures. I guess this is why, their representation of self-perpetuating violence.

I blink sleepily. I should be glad that I have rope now, and with rope, fresh meat. But I'm just so tired. I splash the last of my refilled water jug on my face to wake myself up. I found a stream, so I'm through with drinking dew off grass, thank goodness.

I'm alert now, so I set off to the stream as I wrack my brain for the best snare. I decide to try for a bird to start. It'll be best to set a chicken snare in that case, one that will catch the animal's small leg.

The stream is close to my stump, enough so to make me nervous. Sometimes. Usually I can't find enough caution to do more than remind myself that I am not alone here.

But sometimes, surrounded by the night sounds that prowl the forest like they're their own animals, panic surprises me. It stabs me through the stomach; makes me want to writhe in discomfort. Once it passes, I'm numb. Maybe I'll be numb forever if I win this. I hope so.

I wonder what the Capitol thinks of this. They've been such pampered little pansies since the foundation of Panem that you'd think this whole thing would be a little much for the poor dears to handle. Maybe there's someone out there who's always glad to get a glimpse of me living peacefully, whose stomach turns every time a face appears in the sky. I hope so. Because the fact that the Capitol citizens of all people might like this murder fest frightens me.

As much as it may not feel like it sometimes, the Capitol people are people too, and if some humans are capable of taking such joy in death then aren't we all? I don't want to think about it, that if the Districts had won, maybe we would have done this to the Capitol. And who's to say we wouldn't have? We certainly have more cause to seek revenge than they do.

It's no good to think like that, though. What ifs aren't going to help me any, so I focus on the task at hand. Water. Okay. I've thrown off my wonderings. Focus, Pippa, focus.

**Jiminy Frank, District 8**

We're off on another of our treks. I honestly don't see why we keep looking for other people. If we happen to run into them then great, but right now, with two injured members, I think we should stay put.

"Hey Reb," I call. We've become such a big, powerful group that we don't even try to keep quiet any more. Wrianin saunters over, chewing on a long piece of grass. "Yeah?" He says. He sounds bored.

"Can't we just wait here for a day or two? Sneak's still got those gashes in her hands, and Rocky can't even walk."

Wrianin shrugs. "Then have someone carry 'im."

I frown. "I don't think so. If we need to get somewhere, or away from somewhere, fast then it's going to slow us down to have to lug a dead weight. No offense." I add to Fenn, who winces as Sneak helps him stagger to his feet.

"None- ooh- taken." He grunts and screws his face up in pain.

Reb hesitates and chews his lip thoughtfully. He shakes his head with finality. "No, we've gotta go. I don't like spending two nights in the same place. It's just asking for trouble. I'll carry Rocky, since I'm probably the strongest. We'll break camp in twenty minutes."

I look at Wrianin unhappily and shuffle my feet.

"Just trust me, okay Sparky."

"Yeah. Fine. Just...don't call me Sparky."

****

Our trek through the woods has been uneventful, which is a really good thing since a lot of the people left are probably hostile. I don't think anyone in our group (except maybe Red, but I'm sure not going to ask him) would have killed anyone, so somebody else has offed about ten people in the contest, and I sure as heck don't want to run into them.

Sneak and I spend a lot of time whispering back and forth. We're bringing up the rear, with Red and Tech in front while Wrianin gives Fenn a piggyback ride through the forest to nowhere. I can tell Reb doesn't like to be boxed in; he'd rather be at the front, leading the way. But he understands that it's more important that somebody with a lot of muscle lug Rocky around. Fenn, by the way, isn't too thrilled with the whole arrangement either.

"Reb looks restless," Flute mutters.

"Hey, this was his idea. He can deal with," I whisper back. She smiles.

"It was probably a good idea though. We made so much noise last night that I'm sure there must have been somebody who noticed. To could have just shot us one by one in our sleep. Or somebody could have snuck into camp really quietly and suffocated us or-"

"Sheesh, Flute, you're making me paranoid. Cut it out!"

She chuckles and we walk in silence for a while. Out of nowhere she says under her breath, "What do you have to look forward to at home, Jiminy?"

I'm caught off guard. "Well, my family."

She looks at me out of the corner of one brown eye. "What kind of family?"

"My dad and stepmom. My stepbrother and my niece and two nephews."

"What happened to your mom?"

"Malaria. It's not common in 8. She was the first one to get it in about fifteen or twenty years."

"I'm really sorry."

I shrug. "I was about three when she died, so I don't really remember much about her. Wish I did. But I don't, and I love my stepmom, so I'm not really missing out on much. What about you?"

"I have my ma and pa, and my two twin brothers. They're ten."

Another long pause. "Only one family is going to get out of this without a big hole in their hearts," She whispers. "Maybe that's the real reason the Capitol is making us do this. It's not to kill children and satisfy their bloodlust, it's to hurt the people who are left behind. 'Cause, I mean, once you're dead, that's it. You don't have to deal with the pain anymore. But when you lose your sister or your uncle or your boyfriend or whatever, you have to live in pain. People usually don't put up much of a struggle if they're in enough pain."

I don't ask why or how she knows this, probably from some kind of horrifically bloody work-related accident I don't want to hear about. But I nod in agreement. "If that's the truth, it's their mistake. Once people stop hurting, they take action. They're going to have twenty-three mothers who can't believe they've lost their babies. Hundreds of kids who will grow up hating the Capitol for taking their friends away from them. What the Capitol is doing is making martyrs. And martyrs are a hard enemy to fight, since it's a little bit hard to imprison or kill someone's memory. And eventually, people aren't going to take this. Even if it goes on and on, like the Capitol wants it to, it has to end somewhere." I twist my lips into an ironic smile. "All good things must come to an end, no?"

****

The Anthem goes by without any faces today. I bet the audience is bored (unless the other kids are being a lot more interesting than we are). All we've done is eat, go to the bathroom, talk, and set up camp. We even did all that in a really boring kind of way. Since Flute and I had our talk this afternoon, it seems like everyone has come to the silent agreement to give our audience the worst show possible. It makes the corner of my mouth quirk. It makes me feel a little thrilled and happy, like we're a bunch of middle schoolers pulling off a prank.

Sneak and Reb are whispering together. Wrianin doesn't have a blanket, and neither do I, because there aren't enough to go around. Flute has one because she's younger, smaller, and is still healing the wounds on her hands. I stare up at the sky where the seal of Panem has faded. I like the stars. There's a lot of industrial light pollution back in 8, from all the textiles being transported, packaged, made, and inspected, so it's hard to see the stars.

"You know any constellations, Flute?" I randomly interrupt their conversation.

"Yeah, some. Like those three big ones in a row are Bryan's Belt, or something. And there's Serious, though Serious isn't a whole constellation."

"What about you?" I ask Wrianin. He squints at the sky, then shrugs.

"I dunno, I've never really seen the shapes in constellations. I mean, I'm with you on the whole Big Ladle one, but after that I just get lost."

We laugh softly at the dark blue sky.

_Day Eight_

**A/N**-Now for the living people recap.

District 1: None

District 2: Fenn Zete (Fen Zet)

Flute French (I don't _really_ need to explain this one, right?)

District 3: Audio Lome (Aw-dee-oh Loam)

To Liscan (Toe Liss-can)

District 4: Disha Lawrence (Disha Lore-ence)

District 5: Aria Lyemann (Ah-ree-uh Lie-man)

District 6: Wrianin Abro (Ree-anne-in Ah-bro)

District 7: Murk Fascia (Merk Fay-scha)

Ankha Zeet (Onk-uh Zeat)

District 8: Jiminy Frank (Jim-in-ee Fraynk)

District 9: Rhiattany Hurli (Ree-uh-taw-nee Hurley)

Distict 10: Narcis Aramis (Nawr-siss Air-uh-miss)

Pippa Fawn (Pih-puh Fawn)

District 11: Drai Brister (Dray Brisster)

Distict 12: Eulkichu Dambis (Ul-kitch-oo Dam-biss)


	6. Unhappy Together

**A/N**-Reviews make P.W. happy! And if you leave a review saying you like a specific character, I'll try to do a POV for them. By the way, I own neither the Hunger Games, nor the song Happy Together. Suzanne Collins owns this wonderful series, and I don't actually now who owns the song. Deal with it. Now onto the good stuff.

**Chapter 6**

**Disha Lawrence, District 4**

I nudge Brister with my foot. And I do it again. When poking him doesn't work I crawl over, shake him, and hiss, "Wake up!"

He slowly opens an eye at me. Our unhappy alliance is useful, I must admit. He takes all the first watches, while I handle the graveyard shift. There's always a tiny voice lisping away in the back of my head though. What if tonight is the night he decides that he doesn't need me around? What if tonight he kills me to get me out of the way? But the extra sleep and security is visibly helping him too, so I think I'm safe for a while.

I roll my sleeping bag and stick it in its cloth wrap. It's strange to have an ally that you know can and probably will kill you. Not to mention one you wouldn't think twice about killing if it came to it. I have to say, I feel a bit guilty about my lack of…any positive emotion, to be honest, but it's not like I _chose_ to hate the guy.

Besides, the guy probably doesn't think anything different about me. He's told me about his kills.

You might think he'd keep that from me, but you'd be so wrong. We're most of us going to die here, so honesty is the least we can give. Even he and I respect each other enough to realize that lying in this place would lower us even farther on the Scum of the Earth Scale.

"Where to?" Clipped and sharp, as always.

"Dunno. Don't care." He's just as abrupt.

I take that to mean, "Lead the way, Disha." So I set off in a random direction. Soon it becomes more and more obvious that this was the wrong random direction.

"Where are we?" Brister grumbles.

"I don't know! If you have a better idea, I'd love to hear it." I growl. We've been walking for hours now, and we're so lost I'm surprised we're not in District 12 by now.

"Yeah, here's one. Don't be such an idiot next time." I whip around. I have completely forgotten any guilt over my hatred of that boy. It's totally justified.

"You _want_ a fight, Baldy?" I regret the words the moment they're out of my mouth. If he does, I'm so dead.

"Not unless you do, Fish-eyes." He snarls.

I hesitate. "No. I can't carry all those backpacks. I need a pack animal." I turn away from him with as much restraint as I can manage. Every minute I like this boy less and so, so much less. This can't go on forever. Something has to give.

**Eulkichu Dambis, District 12.**

I know I should be happy that we all survived last night. But I'm not. It's just more people that I may have to kill myself. I frown at the grass and shuffle slowly along the streambed. It's become a sort of nervous habit, to pace up and down the stream.

I shake my head. Have to focus. Spacing out can get me killed just as easily as being a weak fighter.

I double check to make sure I have everything. Another habit. Maybe I'm only doing this to fill in the incongruous lulls between the dangerous points. Like those wolves. Or that ravine I almost walked straight into. And that shale pile I passed, which turned out to be a lot less stable than it looked.

I hear a crack behind me. I'm frozen by reflex for a moment, before I sprint up a tree.

Unfortunately, I climb about as well as a loaf of District 12 bread, and this was a really awful tree to pick. It's too skinny, bending under my weight, the limbs are too sparse, and my hands are already losing their grip on the thin branches.

I instantly berate myself. What am I doing? I've got water, food, weapons. The last thing for me to do is to start picking off my opponents. I should be down there, fighting.

The person is almost to my runty tree. It's a girl. Her black hair is loose and filthy, and she's muttering nervously to herself. Just as she's passing underneath me, I lose my tenuous grip on the branches and slide off, landing hard on the girl.

She shrieks and is immediately in a panic. I roll off her, and she leaps to her feet. Her eyes are wild as she rips out a long knife with dried blood staining the blade.

I stumble backwards, yanking out one of my own knives. The girl rushes me and I dive to the side, slashing at her rib cage. She twists and knocks the blade of my knife away with her own before stabbing at me again. I roll to the right and yank a second knife from my vest. The girl whips to face me just as I throw the knife at her chest. She ducks underneath the arc of the knife and lunges at my knees.

I swear as she knocks us backwards. We grab at each other's knife hands until I punch her hard in the nose. It makes a weird cracking noise. She squeals, and blood flows from her nostrils. I'm blinded by the red stuff flowing into my eyes. She pulls back, grasping at her face. I kick her hand in the stomach, and scramble backwards, frantically rubbing my eyes.

She has the knife I threw now, as I snatch one from my boot. We stand frozen for a moment at an impasse.

For the first time I look at her eyes.

They're a nice color, olive, but tainted. They don't look human. They don't show thoughts, only primal emotions, like I'm looking into the eyes of an animal. Then she smiles. It's a terrifying sight, her chin and teeth dyed red with blood from her nose. She lunges with a howl.

I swing at her and she jumps backward mid-stride. She propels at me again, fiercer. A sharp clang as our knives cross. Her other knife streaks toward my stomach and I leap to the side and let her own momentum carry her forward.

We throw our knives at the same moment and dodge in unison. She comes at me again with sharp, fast cuts. She doesn't have skill, but she's acting on animal instinct. I don't know how long we can go until-

Her elbow smashes into my chest and I hit the ground hard. My knife spins away and her knees land on my shoulders. I moan in pain.

Before I have a chance to fight back her hand is under my chin, forcing my head back. Her knife blade is against my throat.

We're both breathing hard. She has drool diluting the blood on her chin until it's watery and pink. Her eyes are huge and bloodshot. Her matted hair falls around her face like the curtain around an isolated hospital bed. She pants, her arm tense and shaking. I want to close my eyes, but I steel myself. I will die staring her down.

But…she doesn't slit my throat. The wildness in her eyes fades and is replaced by growing confusion. She shudders, and lets out a horrible moan. She stumbles back off me, wobbles to a thin tree.

She falls to her knees and wraps her arms around the trunk. She rocks back and forth, holding her tree and sobbing.

I slowly sit up. I'm having a hard time understanding what's happening. I slowly collect my three knives as I massage my throat. I pick up the girl's knife last and move carefully towards her.

"Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh." She moans. I freeze. She sobs and moans again, muttering to herself.

I close the distance between us. I raise the knife, debating whether to kill her.

"Uuuuuuuuh…Gotta…Morning…Preel…" She babbles. I lower the blade. I can't do it. Obviously, there's something wrong with her. And she spared my life, so I'll give her hers in return.

I lay the knife in front of her knees. She moans pitifully. "Dead…River." She buries her face against the tree bark. I squat next to her. I awkwardly stroke her hair and give her a kiss on the top of the head, like I would to a small child. Her sobs pause for a moment and she heaves a breath before stumbling to her feet. She picks up her knife and staggers off, moaning and whispering to herself.

I sit for a minute before I go, trying to make any of this make sense.

**Aria Lyemann, District 5**

I can't- Why is it dark?! It's not- understand what's- Nighttime yet. The sun should be- I want to go- Happening to me! Why- Up for hours still. Maybe I'm- Home. I want my mom and my puppy and- Can't I walk straight or see things- Hallucinating. Did I eat some bad- My dad to hug me and tell- Right? I'm so scared and- Berries? No they weren't poisonous. I- Me that It will be okay. But it- I just want to go home, home, home, home,- Recognized them! I knew them! Won't be. It'll never be okay.

_We regret to inform you that Aria Lyemann can no longer personally tell the story of her Hunger Games experience, due to deteriorating mental condition. I will be narrating from this point forward. I apologize for the inconvenience. _

Aria stumbled through the forest for some time after her fight with Eulkichu. She took very few precautions as to her noise level, but passed through uninhabited areas and so was unhurt. As the sun began to go down, she began to eat the grass on the floor of the clearing she had reached. She curled up where she lay during the anthem, with no faces projected that night. She cried herself to sleep and spoke strange things to herself until she woke the next morning. Day nine.

_Day ten._

_Day eleven._

_Day twelve._

**Pippa Fawn, District 10**

I could almost laugh. Five whole days since someone died. I bet the Gamemakers or whatever they call themselves are positively fuming. Serves them right. I sneeze hard and clamp my hands over my mouth and curse. I need to stop sneezing or I'm going to give my position away. It's hard to remind myself that that stuff actually matters at this point. It's positively ridiculous. I don't think anybody else in the Games has to work so hard at being scared of their opponents. Maybe I'm just an idiot. That would explain it.

"ACHOO!" I sneeze again, even harder than last time. I wipe my nose miserably. I hate colds. Hate 'em with a passion. I mean, your nose is runny and you're stuffy. Maybe you're sneezing a lot like I am. But that's it. You don't have a fever, so you can't stay home from work. You don't feel miserable enough to want to stay in bed all day, but you're just bothered enough by your cold that everyday actions become really annoying. Not to mention that every time you talk to someone they hear your voice and say, "Do you have a cold?" You hear that over and over till you just want to rip your hair out and scream, "No genius, my voice is like this all the time."

Okay. End of rant.

But anyway, I'm sitting in my little hollow, and all of a sudden I hear voices. I freeze. I don't know what to do. The wariness I've been working on explodes into all-out panic. I'm scared enough that I don't have my wits about me, so all I can think to do to protect myself is hunker down deeper in the hollow.

I'm confused by what I see. A pair of people round the corner, chatting comfortably. One of them has a sword thrown over his shoulder. Then two more. These are a blond girl who's helping a boy who looks a little older than her limp after the first two. They are talking easily as they pass. Then the last two. They're both boys, not looking at each other, but one with brown hair joins in on the conversation between the boy and girl in front of him.

They all look comfortable, like they're just going for an afternoon stroll (except for the redhead in back, who looks like he's being sent to his room or something). I realize what's happened and shrink back.

They've banded together. With all those people, nobody could possibly stand a chance against them. If they spot me, I'm dead.

Frantically, I think, _But what if they ask you to join them? Then you'd be safe. Then they wouldn't hurt you._ But I know it's no good. They wouldn't want me. I'm not willing to fight, and judging by their collection of injuries, they've been doing a lot of fighting. Yes, this is a force that's ready to take out their opponents, and then each other I guess. My only hope is that they don't find me. Oh, please don't let them find me!

I try to make myself as small as possible, to avoid the sweeping gazes of their lookouts. Thankfully, the ridge of bark hides me.

I stay completely still until I can't hear them anymore. I slowly poke my head out of the tree. I hold back a heaving sigh of relief. I climb down and rub my arms as I think.

Clearly, this tree isn't going to cut it. I better-

"ACHOO!" I freeze, waiting to hear their footsteps come pounding back. After a half of a minute I relax again. I'm so glad I didn't sneeze while they were in range of hearing it.

Anyway, the tree isn't going to cut it. I need to find somewhere more sheltered, more covered. Sleeping outside like that was probably what gave me a cold. I've never had the greatest immune system. I pull my staff, rope, and grasses down from the tree.

I pause, staring at the handful of grass. What does it mean? It must have some significance, since I found it with the District 11 boy. They farm there. He definitely knew what these were.

I frown. I think I have two choices. One: eat the grass. Two: don't eat the grass. I smile a little to myself. Yep, that's two alright, and I can't think of anything else to do. I decide to think about it before I go. If I go with one, I could end up poisoned. But I could also end up healing my cold or something I lick my lips. I've been so cautious up 'til now I almost hate to change. But then again, if I never make any forward action then I'll just end up being killed by somebody eventually anyway. I've made my decision. Eating this grass will be my first step to becoming a contender. I breathe deeply, and shove the grass into my mouth and chew.

Blech! This stuff is _nasty_. I gag, but since it doesn't seem to be hurting me any, I keep chewing. I smile triumphantly. Maybe It's childish, being so proud of myself for eating grass, but I'm proud all the same.

I swallow the stringy junk and gag. It's harder than you'd think to chew grass. It's tough and stringy. I spit and wipe my mouth, before grinning again, very pleased with myself.

A stick breaks and I jump.

Okay, so maybe I'm not ready to go challenge To or anything. Baby steps, baby steps.

**Audio Lome, District 3**

I shake my bangs out of my face. My mom hates 'em, complains that she can't see, "yer gorgeous eyes, darlin'". I smile just thinking 'bout my mom. My dad too. Lots of kids my age can't stand their parents, but I love mine, just like I should.

I roll my eyes at myself. I've gotten a lot a grief for my "perfect son act". But I honestly don't care. The kids at school aren't important. What matters are two things: My family and my grades. Course, everyone in 3 cares about grades. But not everybody works as hard as I do. I go to school for the most part of the day, study once I get home, and family fills up all of the rest of my…well…everything really. I don't have time for much else.

Some people say I don't have a life, but like I said, I don't care 'bout 'em. And I'll rub it in all their faces when I'm eighteen and ace my entrance exams to all the best universities and can pick whatever college I want. It's the dream of every kid in District 3 to go to one of the three Paramount Universities. They only take the best and brightest, the people who they know are going to do really great things, who will come up with the next innovation to bring attention to our District, to make the Capitol respect us. That's gonna be me, I'll show everyone what 3 can do. Once I graduate-

If I graduate.

I suddenly stop walking. Red cusses and snaps, "Don't be stupid. I swear, what's _wrong_ with all you people?" Even though he's supposed to be my partner for the moment he walks on without me.

I move myself forward, more from habit than anything. It's just hit me. I may never be able to take my entrance exams to Hardart, or Rinceron, or Kale. I may never graduate. I may never see my family again. I may never get married an' have a family of my own. Kind of a weird ambition for a thirteen-year-old I guess, but my own family is so important I guess I just can't imagine not having one eventually.

But now I guess I won't. Unless Reb's plan works. All of a sudden I realize what's riding on Wrianin's idea. My life. My future. All the gadgets I've been planning that I haven't gotten around to working on yet. Stuff I never thought I would run out of time to do.

I keep pace with Red. I stare hard at his back. I hope he understands what's at stake here. We're all trusting him with our lives. If this doesn't work…there are no second chances. We don't get any do-overs. We mess this up and we're dead.

****

I roll over onto my back as the anthem begins. It plays through the entire song. No faces. I smile darkly to myself.

"Good thing, huh?" Chirps Flute. All these blank night skies have just been making her more and more excited lately.

"Hm? Yah, guess so." I mumble, before I retreat back into my thoughts.

Flute rolls over and looks at me. "You okay, Tech? You've been acting weird today."

I haven't been myself since this morning.

I force myself to smile. "Nah. I'm fine."

"Okay." Sneak rolls back over. It's a good thing she couldn't see my face. Probably wouldn't have been able to convince her if she had.

_Day thirteen._

_**Contestants remaining:**_

District 1: None

District 2: Fenn Zete (Fen Zet)

Flute French (I don't _really_ need to explain this one, right?)

District 3: Audio Lome (Aw-dee-oh Loam)

To Liscan (Toe Liss-can)

District 4: Disha Lawrence (Disha Lore-ence)

District 5: Aria Lyemann (Ah-ree-uh Lie-man)

District 6: Wrianin Abro (Ree-anne-in Ah-bro)

District 7: Murk Fascia (Merk Fay-scha)

Ankha Zeet (Onk-uh Zeat)

District 8: Jiminy Frank (Jim-in-ee Fraynk)

District 9: Rhiattany Hurli (Ree-uh-taw-nee Hurley)

Distict 10: Narcis Aramis (Nawr-siss Air-uh-miss)

Pippa Fawn (Pih-puh Fawn)

District 11: Drai Brister (Dray Brisster)

Distict 12: Eulkichu Dambis (Ul-kitch-oo Dam-biss)


	7. Shadow

**A/N**- I've got to warn you, updates may slow down in a couple of chapters. My parents think I'm spending too much time online and have begun demanding my return to someplace called "The Real World". I'll do my best to keep writing, but if I all of a sudden lurch to a stop, you know why.

**Chapter Seven**

**Disha Lawrence, District 4**

We don't even look at each other anymore. I try not to think about Blister-face at all. But he's always over there, walking, breathing, eating. Every noise he makes makes my skin crawl.

I'm surprised we haven't killed each other yet. But we haven't. As much as I'm sure we'd both like to, just to make the annoying stop.

We break camp in silence. We know the routine. There's blessed little need to talk.

Through the entire day we hold silence. It's almost a game. Like, Hey! Let's see how long we can go without talking! Whoever breaks this silence better have a good reason, or they'll probably get a real earful. I know I'd give him one. But in my defense, he'd probably insult me first. So he deserves it.

Turns out we're not the ones who break the silence after all. What does is an arrow that flies right past my head.

We both spring to the side, pulling out weapons. I dive behind a tree as I fumble for my spear, and Brister rolls behind a rock so he can flip out his knife. There's silence. The arrow sticks out of the ground at an angle, still vibrating slightly.

Slowly, I peek around the side of the tree opposite of where the arrow came at me.

For a moment I don't see anything, but then I catch the slowest of movements. To. And she's reloading her bow.

I slink back to the opposite side of the tree and turn my side to To. Even though the tree's probably wide enough to cover my body, it never hurts to provide a smaller target. I work hard to catch Brister's eye. He glares at me, but I jerk my head, hold up three fingers, and pantomime drawing a bow. For a moment he stares at me like I'm crazy, then realization sets in. We're facing possibly the most dangerous person in this Game, and all we have to rely on is each other. Joy.

I motion with my head that he should circle around back. He points to make sure. I nod impatiently. He slips around the tree and out of my sight. I take a deep breath and stick my head around the other side of the tree. To has her bow loaded and has pulled back the bow string or whatever you call it, with her hand back pulled 'til it's right next to her right eye.

I take a deep breath. Now for my job.

"You don't really want to try that, do you To?"

I just catch her look my way before I slip around to the far side of the tree again.

"Why not?"

"Because," I begin, trying to sound as dangerous as possible, "We're both armed, Drai and me. Together we can take you." I leave out the fact that I'm an awful fighter. She doesn't need to know that.

To snorts. "Sure you can. Not like I can shoot you from thirty feet away or anything."

"Not if we're fast enough," I say, and smoothly lie, "I'm the fastest runner in my school."

"Not faster than an arrow."

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"You want to find out? I dare you."

"Maybe I will. But I think you'll be disappointed, To."

"You talk tough. Who are you, anyway?"

"Disha Lawrence. District 4."

"Ah, yes. I remember you. You're not going to last to see the top ten."

"Your confidence in me is just heartwarming."

"It's not my job to make everyone feel all warm and fuzzy inside."

I curse to myself. What's taking that boy so long? I laugh loudly. "Don't worry To, nobody's accusing you of that."

I can almost hear her smile. "I like you. Too bad we had to meet here of all places."

"Ironic, isn't it? I'm afraid I'll probably be the last person you ever meet. Too bad."

To laughs. "You going to keep talking tough, or are you going to put some muscle behind it? This whole routine is only going to keep me entertained for so long, you know. I've got other people to hunt."

"Doesn't seem like you've had much luck. Nobody's died in the last five, six days or so."

"That's because I've been planning. I'm ready now. Things are going to-"

I never found out what things were going to, because that was when Brister attacked her.

I don't know how he got up into that tree without her hearing him, but he did. All I can hear is a loud grunt, a shriek, and the sound of thrashing, before I hear a thud. I whip to the other side of the tree. They've both fallen out, but neither seems to be hurt. To landed on top of Brister, and leaps off him almost immediately, fumbling to reload her bow.

Brister lunges forward.

Just as To shoots him.

He howls in pain as the arrow thuds into his shoulder.

"You're dead." He growls.

"Sure I am." To hisses back.

Brister yanks the arrow out. For dramatic effect I guess. I curse. That idiot! That was only going to make him bleed more. He swipes at To, who jerks back. It would have looked funny if she hadn't done it so expertly. She reels back and punches him, knocking him onto his butt. She leaps backwards, apparently makes a quick decision not to try shooting with her aim impaired by the close-combat circumstances, and shoves her bow onto her shoulders. She pulls an arrow from her quiver, and slashes at Drai with the arrowhead.

He rolls back and then lunges at her with his knife aimed at her chest.

To dodges, grabbing his wrist and yanking him forward, off balance. She was good! If she could whup Drai, the fighter in our duo, then where was that going to leave me?

I make a split second decision, dashing toward their battle. I clumsily swipe at To with my spear. She rounds on me, nearly slitting my throat as she sweeps her arrow back and forth.

I jab again and hardly even distract her before she sidesteps Drai's latest assault. I'm dumbfounded. She fought me for two seconds and has already evaluated my danger as a threat. Or a non-threat. We need to end this fast; she's too good. I stab at her again, and actually scratch her this time because she had her back turned.

She whips around to beat me back again. I'm annoying her. Now I feel accomplished.

Drai stabs at her shoulder, and for once it's mere coincidence that saves her. She turns to slash dangerously at Drai. He ducks under her guard and slices up, probably aiming for her stomach but just ripping a hole through the abdomen of her shirt. She tackles him straight out, and I'm knocked over too, as they roll into my legs. We all struggle blindly for a moment. Like she doesn't even need to see, To manages to slice a gash in my leg.

Three of us manage to separate, and stand, heaving and panting, to stare at each other.

To inclines her head. "I'm impressed. I'll save killing you two for later." And just like that, she turns and walks off.

Brister and I are so dumbfounded we just stand there for a minute. What just happened? After the initial shock wears off we begin to collect our things. Obviously, we wouldn't have been able to fight carrying all our heavy packs.

I shake my head. I'm not sure if she really just stopped fighting because she decided she liked us, or if she was bluffing and actually thought she couldn't win.

For whatever reason, I'm glad. Even if To thought we could beat her, I don't quite share her confidence.

**Rhiattany Hurley, District 9**

I peek silently as the two kids (Drai and Dish...something) walk away from the battle scene. They're interesting, but I can't afford to go after them. Because I'm already following To.

It's the one thing I'm sure she'll never expect. So while To goes hunting, I'll always be close by. Although I miss my apple tree, this is the best thing to do, I'm sure of it.

She's already off toward wherever she's going, bow loaded, moving quietly. I don't know who she's after, but I feel pretty sorry for them.

Of course, there's a huge possibility she's after me and just plans to kill anyone she runs into along the way. If that's the case, she'll be looking for a long time. It's really hard to kill your shadow.

**To Liscan, District 3**

This is impossible! I should have taken out the two kids I saw earlier. I let my curiosity take control. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Now it's getting late. I climb into a tree, careful to choose one with a lot of leaves to make a good rustle if anyone tries to get into the tree to get at me. You'd need a good long-range weapon to touch me now, and the only thing I saw in the clearing that came even close to that was my bow and a few spears. I'm pretty sure no one here has the skill to throw a spear like that.

Of course, maybe someone will try to come up the tree after me, but they'll wake me up. In which case all I'd need was a well placed kick and they'd be on the ground. I don't think everybody can deal with falling out of tree as well as that boy I saw earlier. Not even me. It was lucky that I happened to fall on him, since he took the brunt of the impact.

I sigh and lay my head against the tree trunk. It's rough, and I know I'll have a sore neck when I wake up. I'm beginning to drift off when the anthem plays.

I'm immediately wide-awake.

Again, it's just the anthem, announcing no deaths. I frown. I don't know how much longer this can go on. I guarantee this won't happen next year.

Maybe it's bad that I'm already thinking about how it will be next year. Maybe I should be positive about it and hope that once will be enough. That one will be enough of a slap in the face to the Districts that they never try something so patently idiotic again.

Because there's no way they'll win. The rebels had one thing on their side: a desperate yearning to be free. That wasn't enough. It will never be enough.

I hold back tears expertly. It wasn't enough, and now I'm going to pay. I didn't have a perfect life; I don't love the Capitol. But I had a right to my slummy life before. The rebellion has taken that away from me. It's taken everything away from me.

I think that's the real reason I wouldn't join the boys from 1 and 8. Because the leader was a rebel.

Because he's responsible for this! They all are! Sure the Capitol was never a caring dictatorship, but they didn't want this either. They never would have done this on their own. It was retaliation; something the rebels had to accept might happen when they fought.

And it's not like the Capitol doesn't deserve restitution. They lost more than thirty thousand people to the war. I don't blame them for being angry, for wanting revenge.

But they're punishing the wrong people! Only Wrianin Abro deserves this.

A fire lights in my stomach. I don't really hate the people in this Game. Even that kid, Rhiattany, I only fight because she hates me now and will kill me if she gets the opportunity. But him I hate. In my mind, he's become the summary of the punishment I shouldn't have to suffer.

I've made up my mind. He'll suffer. No matter what, whether it's me or not, he'll suffer. Even if he lives through this (an injustice I just wouldn't be able to take) I'll find some way to come back and haunt him.

I try to smother the hate-fire that coils inside of me and threatens to make me squirm out of this tree right now and go hunt. Hate is dangerous. It's stupid. It's why I don't hate, or do drugs, or act out in school. Because it's stupid. I don't want to be stupid.

However, stupid is useful in others. Anyone who tried to fight a war against the Capitol is stupid. This shouldn't be hard at all.

The night sky is scattered with stars, looking so hard and frosted in the night sky. I'm a star now too. Cold and distant. Radiant and powerful. You reach for a star and you get burned.

_Day fourteen._

**Surviving Contestants**

District 1: None

District 2: Fenn Zete (Fen Zet)

Flute French (I don't _really_ need to explain this one, right?)

District 3: Audio Lome (Aw-dee-oh Loam)

To Liscan (Toe Liss-can)

District 4: Disha Lawrence (Disha Lore-ence)

District 5: Aria Lyemann (Ah-ree-uh Lie-man)

District 6: Wrianin Abro (Ree-anne-in Ah-bro)

District 7: Murk Fascia (Merk Fay-scha)

Ankha Zeet (Onk-uh Zeat)

District 8: Jiminy Frank (Jim-in-ee Fraynk)

District 9: Rhiattany Hurli (Ree-uh-taw-nee Hurley)

Distict 10: Narcis Aramis (Nawr-siss Air-uh-miss)

Pippa Fawn (Pih-puh Fawn)

District 11: Drai Brister (Dray Brisster)

Distict 12: Eulkichu Dambis (Ul-kitch-oo Dam-biss)


	8. Horror

**A/N**- It's been taking me a while to write "full" chapters, which are about 3,000 words. So if you had to choose, would you sacrifice chapter length or frequency? I'll try to do my best to retain both.

**Chapter Eight**

**Ankha Zeet, District 7**

I hold my stomach. It's not hunger any more, an annoying rumble that comes with an uncomfortable emptiness. It's pain now. I haven't eaten for almost three days, and I know that my body is starting to turn on itself. There's no food in my stomach, and it's eaten away my fat storage, so now it's consuming my muscle tissue.

I need food. I can't live like this for very long. I mean, even before I starve to death I'll probably be unable to function for a few days. I grimace. Maybe I should just stab myself.

That saying makes me stop. It used to be something I said flippantly. _Well, I should just kill myself. Everything would be _so _much easier._ But now, I can't really joke about that anymore. Because it's a serious alternative. It's almost like a business proposition, _Should I kill myself or let someone else do it? Of course, perhaps I'll survive, but that's a lot of suffering for a fairly unlikely payoff_. It is weighing costs and benefits. It is my life or death, but it doesn't feel that way.

I look at the pack I got two weeks ago. It has a knife in it. Not a big knife. A kitchen knife. But I could do it. I know where my heart is. I stick my hand into my pack slowly, almost shyly. I hold the wooden handle. It doesn't have to be my heart. If I slit my wrist I'll bleed out.

I place the sharp edge of the blade against my wrist. No. I'll die faster if I stab myself. I place the point over my heart. I look down at the knife. Do I have the guts to do this? The desperation?

No. I realize I don't. This is a stupid idea. Might as well try to stick it out. After all, once I'm dead, things can't really get better. I lower my hand and stick the knife back into the pack.

All of a sudden, like it just magically appeared there, there's an arrow sticking straight through my hand. It's about halfway in, halfway out of the center of my palm.

For a moment (except it's not really a moment, time's just frozen in my mind) the pain and the arrow aren't connected. Now I grab my wrist and shriek in pain, staggering backwards. I turn and run. Not because my brain actually understands that this is the smart thing to do, but because I'm alarmed by the pain in my hand. A fight or flight reaction even though the arrow's not something I can escape from.

I crash through the woods, and I can hear a second set of feet pounding after mine. I glance back for a moment and see that it's To behind me. An arrow flies past my shoulder and I whimper in fear, because I know I won't be able to dodge the next one. I tack a wild turn to the left, scrambling against the loose humus on the ground for footing.

I feel the arrow enter my back, right into my spine. I'm knocked forward as dark closes fast around me. I don't have time to cry, but one thought flicks through my mind. _You got your wish, Murk_.

**To Liscan, District 3**

I slowly approach her body. I put another arrow to my bow. I kneel next to her, unsure.

For lack of anything better to do, I squat, looking at her body. "Her". I keep calling this girl "her". I don't even know her name. I stare at the corpse longer. A confusing combination of guilt and cold indifference swirl through the pit of my stomach. It makes me sick. There's blood blossoming around the arrow's shaft and the smell only adds to the nausea.

When I get out of here. I will know all these names. I'll know their stories. They won't be forgotten. By me at least. I guess that's the least can do for them; I can make sure their names never slide into oblivion. My children will learn their names, and I'll tell them to teach them to their children.

I remove my arrow from her back, trying to touch the small bloodstain as little as possible. I stare at the arrow through her hand. It's in deep. Real deep. I suck in a breath and tell myself to grow up and get over it. I roll her over onto her back, lifting her impaled hand. There's a lot more blood here; she had more time to bleed before she died. I hold tight to her wrist, close my eyes, and pull.

The metallic scent of blood is awful. I'm drowning in it. The arrow makes a sucking noise as I pull it centimeter by centimeter out of her hand. I know enough to pull it out by the arrowhead. If I tried to take it out the other way I'm not sure if I could worm it out of her hand the whole way.

Abruptly, it pulls clear of her palm and I gasp like it's me who's just had an arrow ripped through her hand. And then I look down and scream.

Her eyes are open, frantic and suffering. Oh my- she was _awake_. I thought she was dead. She- she must have been unconscious! And then, she woke up or something, and- and- she _knew_ I was ripping the arrow through her hand! She could _feel_ it! But the arrow must have done something to her back when it hit her spine and she was paralyzed; she couldn't even scream.

I'm filled with horror, terror. I can't believe what's going on. So I panic. I hold back another scream and shoot her in the forehead in panic.

Trying not to vomit, I turn and run. I don't want that arrow anymore. Without thinking I run back to where she left her backpack. I scoop it up and just run. But you can't run away from memories. And that's what I fear now. The memory of that…tragedy? Abomination? Nightmare? There isn't a word bad enough.

I pick up even more speed as her body is airlifted. It doesn't help.

**Rhiattany Hurli, District 9**

I can't believe this new murder. She's a monster. She pulled the arrow out. Who could do something like that? A monster. I am justified in killing her. It will be completely okay.

She screams for some reason I don't understand. She leaps to her feet and, I can't believe it, shoots the corpse with the arrow she just pulled out. The revulsion in my stomach claws its way through my heart and throat. I have to try so hard not to just run out from behind this tree and hurt her now.

She turns and runs, and I freeze in surprise. This is so unlike her usual careful movements through the forest that I don't have time to hide. She runs right past my hiding place. If she'd looked back, she would have seen me.

I throw off my surprise and dash to the corpse. I need to do this fast, before I lose To Liscan. I lean over and hastily close the girl's eyes. She deserves dignity. I glare up at the cameras, trying to tell this dead girl's grieving parents that I will destroy the one who did this. They will see her blood; they will get what they deserve.

I turn and follow the monster into the darkness of the woods.

**Murk Fascia, District 7**

"Ankha Zeet."

I look down. Even when I wouldn't be her ally, I was protecting the girl. And myself. But now I feel almost guilty; I feel like if I had been with her she might not have died. I shake it off. It's a horrible thing, her death, but the dead can't be helped by our pain. I need to move on and try to protect someone who's still alive. I crack my neck and lie down to sleep. I bet she'll be in my dreams tonight. That's alright. She's welcome there. Day fifteen.

****

We're all there. All twenty-four of us. I'm so happy that we're all safe; we're all alive. We're all dressed in wedding outfits for…no reason really. It's a dream. President Hellwick stands at the head of the aisle dressed in black and holding a Bible.

"Iarea Jixtings. Krenk White." She calls. I recognize some of this. It's like an old-fashioned wedding. Iarea and Krenk process toward the president, and everyone applauds. They look so happy. Once they reach the president they immediately topple over, bloody and dead. We keep clapping.

"Flute French. Fenn Zete." The little kids from 2 walk from their seats, all smiles. They land on top of Iarea and Krenk, dead.

"To Liscan. Audio Lome." They process happily before they collapse. We're still clapping. Part of me knows this isn't right; this isn't happy. But I can't stop smiling and clapping, smiling and clapping.

The names go by. So many bodies have piled up that the newcomers have to climb on top of them for a few steps before they can reach the president.

"Anhka Zeet. Murk Fascia." I walk forward with Ankha, smiling so hard I'm about to rip my face in half. I step on Braedi's hand with a crunch as I clamber over the corpses. I fall back. _Good. It's over now._ I think. But it's not.

I don't know how the dream goes on; I'm dead but not a ghost. Somehow I'm just there. Harmony and Jiminy slip up and over our corpses. He lands over my dead eyes and I can still see.

"Marta Mio. Eulkichu Dambis." They prance up the aisle and die. The president clears her throat. "We are gathered here today to join these young people to their fate. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust. Do you, children, take death to be your lawfully wedded spouse?"

"I do!" We exclaim without speaking in the normal way. There's still clapping, even though we aren't moving.

"Our dearly departed shall die terrible deaths for the people of the Capitol!" More clapping.

"They have been bound to slaughter in holy matrimony. Who holds the ring? Ah, thank you." The ring, wherever she got it from, bursts into flames, which she throws on the pile. The flames ctach on someone's wedding dress and spread rapidly, toasting flesh, blackening white cloth.

"Please join us afterwards for recap and a reception. Refreshments are provided…" the President's voice fades away. Everyone is clapping.

****

I wake up slowly, grabbing at the tail end of the dream, scrabbling to remember it. I hate the way dreams fly away once they're done. Memories are what build us. I hate to forget things.

I push myself up. I hate waking up in the mornings, normally. I love the warmth of the blankets, the way they're shaped around my body. But not today. There are no blankets. The morning sky has sapped my warmth. I focus harder. My memories make little sense to me. There are no transitions between moments, just snapshots. I remember death. Happiness. Love. Ankha was there. So were…some other people. Like To.

I rub my face again. I stumble to a standing position, sway on my feet, and look around.

I got some berries yesterday, so I'm not starving. Hungry, but not starving. Rubbing my hair, I set off.

I haven't hurt anybody yet, much less killed someone. I don't want to risk unnecessary injury. I'll have to at some point, but I'm not enough of an idiot to go looking for trouble. Even when I do feel the jitters creep up my spine, when I'm desperate for something, _any_thing, to happen. Last time I had that feeling was yesterday, for a day or so before the announcement of Ankha's death. Careful what you wish for.

After a while I recognize some plant. A lettuce maybe. I yank one out of the ground and chew on it thoughtfully. I try to strategize, but I can't make myself focus. This leaf is good.

Thoughts mosey through my mind. Ankha…she's dead, right? I had the weirdest dream last night. I should tell you about…

About what? What was I thinking about?

I can't hold on to my thoughts any…

This isn't right. Maybe the plant…

Hi. I'm Murk Fas…

Ankha's dead. Too bad. I liked…

Why can't I think? It's not…

_I apologize for the interruption. Murk Fascia has suffered extensive brain damage, in an effect of the consumption of inedible plants. We wish to make this as enjoyable as possible for you, and extend out sincerest regrets about the break in narrative. I shall continue for Mr. Fascia. Thank you._

Murk was quite happy. Of course, he was quite without his brain. He was no longer capable of normal thought processes. He was in a stupor, oblivious to his surroundings and more than satisfied with this. It is difficult to be unsatisfied when you cannot think.

As far as Murk knew, everything was fine and dandy. He was alive, it was warm and sunny, and it was a lovely grove. He was very happy. And he would always be happy, unless he was in discomfort on an animal's level. And in essence, that's what he was. An animal. I assure you, it was not unpleasant.

He wandered around like an amiable animal. After all, it was a bit difficult for him to think of anything else to do, under the circumstances.

**Narcis Aramis, District 10**

I can't believe I'm still with these bozos. I hate all of them. Especially Wrianin's two favorite cronies, Jiminy and Flute. They blindly accept everything he says. We're going to die, and they just follow him around like puppies. You know what my father did with my dog's unwanted puppies after she gave birth? He drowned them, and then shot my dog. Said he couldn't afford more mouths to feed, or to have anybody around who was going to make more mouths. Good thing I didn't like my dog all that much.

I don't want you thinking my dad is some sadist. He's a great man, just very strong. Stronger than the rest of us. But I lied. I did love my dog. I still don't hold anything against my dad. He did what he thought he had to to protect me because he loves me. If you say anything bad about my dad, I'll find you and kick you into next Hunger Games.

I lean my head against my tree, as far away as I think I can get from the others without somebody bugging me about it. They've divided into their little cliques; Audio and Fenn, who seem smart enough not to fawn over Wrianin Abro, but stupid enough to follow him; and Jiminy and Flute, who worship his every fart.

I rip a leaf in my hands and sort of listen to both the conversations. Abro's group is going on about where to take the troops next. Don't you just love how the rest of us aren't involved in this conversation?

Audio and Fenn are muttering about being sore or something stupid. I guess I'm glad not to have to talk to them. Actually, that's kind of the way it is back home.

"Red! We're going," calls Flute. I narrow my eyes at her.

"Alright, I'm coming! Shut up!" Why can't they just leave me alone?

We tromp through the woods in our usual formation: Abro and Frank in front, French and Zete after them, and me and Lome last. We don't look at each other. I can just tell what he's thinking. _Why did I get stuck with him? I've been around longer than Fenn…_

Poor kid; I feel _sooooooooo_ sorry for him. Sarcasm, clearly. It actually makes sense when you think about it. Fenn and Flute are from the same District. No reason they shouldn't want to be together.

Abro's partner is dead. Has been for a while now. Same with Frank. My partner is still out there somewhere. I hope she's not as stupid as these guys. As for Lome…his District partner is To. The dangerous one. Gotta feel sorry for him.

We set off for wherever. I don't even care. But these guys better have a plan. And I hope it's better than their sit-around-and-wait-for-the-Capitol-to-grow-a-conscience plan.

There's no way it's going to work. They are evil, pure evil. I didn't believe in true evil until now. I believed that people had been dealt a bad hand and they just couldn't deal with it. You see, I'm a better person than everybody seems to think. I just have…a finely developed sense of justice. If you're a terrible person because terrible things have happened to you, then you really can't help it. But when you're like those Capitol citizens, who have lived in luxury their whole lives, and you punish someone for wanting to escape treatment as sub-human, then you're just scum. True scum. So as I see it, I have the right to be as darned mad at everybody else as I want.

I've got a home-made (arena-made? Camp-made?) club as my weapon, which Abro so lovingly hacked out of a branch with his own two hands. It's sloppy. I don't like it. But it'll do. Just like me. I may be stuck in a death trap with five of the world's biggest idiots, but I'll make do. Until, if, I'm free, I'll make do.

****

We've reached and passed two more rest sites today, and the sun's getting lower in the sky. All of a sudden French stops us all and motions for us to shut up. She turns her head to the left, slowly. She's concentrating hard on something. She touches Abro's arm and he leans down for her to whisper whatever she's saying in his ear. He nods and turns toward the bushes. "Alright, come out you two. We know you're in there."

A girl and a boy slowly stand up, dirt on their knees and weapons in their hands. The girl has reddish brown hair; she's definitely younger than me. The other boy has the dark skin color you almost never see outside District 11; probably he's about my age, but he's bald. I snicker to myself; nobody but the girl seems to notice. She looks away from Abro for a moment, but then he starts to talk and she looks back at him fast.

"What are your names, Districts?"

They look at each other for a second, then they look away. Seems like they like each other just about as much as I like all my "friends". The boy seems to make a decision. "I'm Drai Brister. District 11."

The girl glances at him and grudgingly says, "Disha Lawrence. District 4."

Abro nods. "I'm Wrianin Abro, District 6. These are Flute French and Fenn Zete, from District 2. Audio Lome, from District 4. Jiminy Frank, 8. And Narcis Aramis, 10." His cronies all nod as their names are called. I glare.

"What are you all doing together?" Asks the girl suspiciously, shifting one of her backpacks on her shoulder.

"We're a team, like you guys are." He raises an eyebrow to the boy for confirmation that they're a pair.

"Yeah. We are." The bald boy grunts. They glare at each other with hate and disgust. I'm impressed. They _despise_ each other. Hard to believe that they hadn't knocked each other off yet. If I were stuck with just one of these idiots, I probably wouldn't have been able to help myself.

The girl looks away, stewing.

"You got a lot of stuff," Abro observes.

"You got a lot of people," boy replies.

"Want to work with each other?"

"Fine by me." The boy walks over to us, easy as that. But there's just something in the way he holds himself. There's more to him than some trusting little idiot. He has his reasons, I'm sure. The girl stares at him in shock, then renewed hate.

"How 'bout you?" Abro asks.

The girl hesitates. The boy rolls his eyes. "You know you couldn't win a fight against my grandmother, Fishguts. Don't be stupid."

"Shut up Salad-for-Brains." She snaps. She stalks over. "Fine. Fine!" She keeps grumbling to herself. So now I'm stuck with seven of the world's greatest idiots. "What's even the point of this?" she spits at Abro.

"We're going to help each other until the Capitol figures out they can't control us. If we refuse to play this Game their way, then they can't just keep us here forever. We'll get out."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever hear," the girl mumbles.

Okay, so maybe only six of the world's biggest idiots.

**Fenn Zete, District 2**

Flute's gabbing on about something. She's sweet, but she's more talkative than most of my friends. We're a pretty quiet group, sitting through biology on different sides of the room, meeting up afterwards to chat and laugh softly. Mostly we want to escape the notice of the big, tough kids. That's kind of the way it is in 2, or at least the area where I live. I think where Flute comes from it's a little different.

In my part of 2, we have one of the three high schools. We're a pretty big District, so we've got several of them. High schools, that is. Our school system's pretty…frustrating. The top 50% of every school division go on for further education. So the top 50% of elementary kids go to high school, the top 50% of high schoolers go to college. The top 50% of college students get the best jobs, like actually getting to go to the Capitol and be a doctor there. I've never had a chance of getting that far. I got into high school, but only in the 54th percentile.

But still, a high school education is enough to get a job somewhere. And I mean a reasonable job, not like the elementary-only kids get. They end up disposing of dead bodies, or cleaning medical equipment, or washing the patients who are throwing up and have constant diarrhea from some horrible disease. Some of them aren't even that lucky.

Some of them end up with nothing at all except enough desperation to sell themselves as test subjects. I've seen horrible things happen to people who tested out new medicines. No one I know personally, but people like my uncle's friend. The sister of that boy who sits two rows in front of me. People just unrelated enough for it not to feel entirely real.

Red interrupts my thoughts by plowing into me. Apparently, I'm going too slow for his taste.

"Move it, Zete!" He growls.

He and that Disha girl (Seashell now, since she's from District 4) have started walking together, mostly because Reb and Baldy (he didn't look too pleased with his name) have struck up conversation at the front and she wanted to get as far away as possible. Reb and Baldy are talking, and sometimes it flows, but just as often there's strange lulls and something in Baldy's/Drai's face changes. I don't trust him.

Sneak glowers at Red. "You okay, Rocky?" she asks.

"Yeah. Fine."

She eyes me. "You don't look fine." After I don't respond, she prompts, "What were you thinking about?"

"Just…school. And stuff. You know, back in District 2."

She nods. "How were you? In school, I mean."

"Not great, but good enough to keep me out of experiments."

She nods. "Good."

"How 'bout you?"

"Oh, okay. I would've gone to high school. I'd've done okay. But now I won't have to go to school, one way or the other."

"Do you think they're joking, about giving the winner a lot of money and them getting famous and all that?"

"No. They have control. Just getting out of here alive would be enough for most of us. They don't have anything to gain by telling us that we'll be rich and famous. I figure they're telling the truth."

I nod. I can't decide whether I like Flute pulling me out of my shell or not. It's not what I'm used to, and I've never been big on change. Of course, considering where I am and what I'm doing, a chatty girl's not really such a major issue.

We keep walking. Reb's doing his best to make us feel like one big family, but it's sort of dissolved into several cliques. There's the Wrianin-Jiminy-Flute group; me and Audio who sort of hang out in the middle and occasionally chat with the threesome, with Flute floating in most often; Disha and Narcis, who hate the world; and Drai, who doesn't fit in anywhere.

Of course, we all seem more happy now. I guess that Seashell and Drai sort of completed us. Red's got a buddy to sulk with now, and since Baldy doesn't need anyone, he's good.

So we've got our little patchwork group. I don't know if anyone else would be welcome at this point, or if they'd just get in the way. The sun is going down, so Reb says we can set up camp for the night.

We all have blankets, weapons, and food now that Seashell and Drai have brought all of their stuff into the group. We lie down in our little groups, with Flute with me and Audio tonight. Everyone but Seashell and Red is whispering to the people they're next to when the anthem starts. On an impulse I hum along mockingly and Sneak and Tech snort with laughter.

There aren't any faces. Good. There's nothing worse than a mug shot up in the sky, like the Capitol trying to remind up where their souls have gone or whatever. Like, _It's not enough to make them kill each other. Let's put their faces up at the end of every day, just to grind it into their memories._

They could have left off the pictures. The pictures that show scared kids, whose eyes can't help but show fear, who're trying hard to look composed. Who are dead now. I guess you can say it's good in case we don't remember what everybody was named, but still. The faces make it harder.

When it's all over we just talk quietly until we fall asleep. Actually, Audio and Sneak do most of the talking. This is how I'm most happy, listening to people and learning about them. People never seem to realize how much I pick up about them. So while I may not talk much, I know almost everyone. They just don't know me.

_Day sixteen._

_Day seventeen._

**Surviving Contestants**

District 1: None

District 2: Fenn Zete (Fen Zet)

Flute French (I don't _really_ need to explain this one, right?)

District 3: Audio Lome (Aw-dee-oh Loam)

To Liscan (Toe Liss-can)

District 4: Disha Lawrence (Disha Lore-ence)

District 5: Aria Lyemann (Ah-ree-uh Lie-man)

District 6: Wrianin Abro (Ree-anne-in Ah-bro)

District 7: Murk Fascia (Merk Fay-scha)

District 8: Jiminy Frank (Jim-in-ee Fraynk)

District 9: Rhiattany Hurli (Ree-uh-taw-nee Hurley)

Distict 10: Narcis Aramis (Nawr-siss Air-uh-miss)

Pippa Fawn (Pih-puh Fawn)

District 11: Drai Brister (Dray Brisster)

Distict 12: Eulkichu Dambis (Ul-kitch-oo Dam-biss)

Return to Top


	9. Friends

**Chapter Nine**

**Murk Fascia, District 7**

Murk wasn't happy anymore. He was hungry, and he didn't know what to eat. Or anything else for that matter. But he could feel how hungry he was, and he didn't like being hungry. He stumbled around, making sad little noises as he tried to shape the words he used to say so easily. But his train of thought never lasted long enough to make a whole word.

He stuffed random inedible things in his mouth; he tried to eat rocks, twigs, and dirt.

He whimpered to himself and slammed into a tree. There was a sudden noise behind him; a noise that the animal he'd become knew meant fear. A growl.

He turned quickly and a wolf lunged at him. He stumbled away, and the wolf quickly turned and sunk its teeth into Murk's shoulder. Murk cried in pain and hit at the wolf that was ripping into his flesh. He grabbed the wolf's fur, which was the same color as the premature gray streaks in his hair that used to embarrass him so.

He pulled back on the wolf's hair, and its teeth ripped through his shoulder, sending blood spraying in incongruously tranquil arcs. Then another wolf knocked him forward from behind.

Murk would usually have been much more capable, but with his mind gone, he had no coordination, no ability to strategize. It was over before it started.

A third wolf sunk its teeth into his leg, prompting another wail of pain. The first wolf tore his throat out with a savage wrench of its teeth. The video editors left the camera feed on the corpse. They wanted every child in the Districts to watch with fearful wide eyes as this boy was eaten.

The wolves destroyed him. Two of them ripped open his stomach like wrapping paper to get at everything inside. A third completely chewed off his leg and dragged it away to eat it.

Blood and dirt coated Murk's face, and blood. There was so much blood. The wolves were there for almost an hour before they ate their fill. Then they padded away, leaving Murk Fascia to be taken away by the silent hovercraft.

Or at least, what was left of Murk Fascia.

**Wrianin Abro, District 6**

I sigh. There's silence in my little group; no one really seems to know what to talk about. There's got to be something, right? I mean, we did just get two new members. We don't know anything about them yet. I could ask anything about their lives before today and learn something. But I tried talking to Baldy and that sort of died out, and Seashell still looks like she's about to strangle somebody.

All of a sudden Drai speaks up at my side, real quiet, "I've killed two people you know. Braedi Tandey. I strangled her. And Martio Mio; I stabbed her in the stomach. I didn't really want to, but don't you have a hard time trusting me knowing that? Now that you know that I've played this Game?"

I'm surprised. I mean, I know somebody's been offing people, but it's hard to really look at any of these people and see a killer. At least, a killer in this new and strange way. How you see someone and it's just the two of you. How personal it is. War is so much easier, so much more distant. Well, it was anyway. That's over now. Now I have to get used to this new kind of killing, and this new kind of killer. Heck, I've killed people. I guess I really can't judge. Still…it feels different. I take a deep breath.

"Nope. Since you're here, you've changed. That's good enough for me." I force a light tone. Drai's having none of it.

"I've changed? How do you know? Maybe I'll just kill you all as soon as you let me keep watch. I've killed before; why shouldn't I do it seven more times?" He challenges.

"Because I don't think you'll kill unless you need to, and I'm giving you another option."

"But how can you know? Aren't you being foolish, just trusting everybody? Aren't you risking all of their lives too?" He jerks his head at the others. His voice has risen till he's practically shouting in my face. "You've got to make choices. There are people here who're playing; I was one of them! How do you know that-"

"Stop!" I shout.

Everybody freezes immediately. Flute's mouth is hanging open from pausing mid-word.

"C'mere." I grunt to Baldy. "Stay back. I'll just be a second." I call to Jiminy. I drag Drai off till we're out of earshot of the others, provided we talk quietly. "Look Drai, I don't know if I can really trust you. But I don't have a choice. The minute I start hating you, any of you, then I'm doing things the way the Capitol wants them. It doesn't matter what you've done, if I protect some of these people I'm going to take in anybody who wants my help. I can't afford to pick and choose, but if you don't shut up then I'm going to make this unpleasant until you do. Besides, if you didn't care then you wouldn't ask me all these questions. You're not as evil as you seem to think you are. So get over it."

I shove him back.

I can feel their eyes following me as I slap on an indifferent look. Not a smile, which could never come out convincingly at the moment, but more of a, _Hey, everything's cool. Nothing goin' on here,_ kind of look.

I clench one hand around the hilt of my sword and stuff the other in my pocket. They're shaking a little. I hate that. Whenever I get nervous or mad my hands shake. They called me Quivers, back in the resistance. But I thought I'd had this under control for a while now. I'd worked so hard at it, ever since my hands were shaking so hard I couldn't aim straight during my first real firefight.

It was supposed to have been a reconnaissance mission; we were just going to spy on the Capitol's troops at the border between Districts 6 and 7. But there'd been this little kid, maybe six or seven, probably the kid of a soldier who'd taken up residency, who saw us. He ran off screaming, sounding the alarm. Vik, always the impulsive one in my platoon, almost shot him. But Aror stopped him. He didn't even have to explain; all of us trusted Aror enough to know that whatever he was doing, he had a good reason and it'd probably end up working out for the better anyway. He just raised his hand, and that one motion saved that little boy's life.

He turned and ran and the rest of us followed without question. It was the right thing to do. Our cover had already been blown, so our only real option was to haul butt.

A branch exploded with gunfire over someone's head. The BANG was delayed, so they were shooting from a distance.

Aror whipped around and shot. We were all well trained enough to understand that this meant we should take cover and start shooting.

The noise was incredible. The guns were pretty good, up to date, since we'd stolen them in a raid. They gave off this awful sulfur smell when they were shot, though, and my eyes were tearing up.

I couldn't see, I couldn't hear, couldn't feel anything but my gun, couldn't even smell past the gun smoke, and there sure as heck wasn't anything around that I wanted to taste. I was devoid of my senses, and any common sense I may have had at some point. followed so fast that I missed it even without blinking. I didn't know what to do but shoot. 'Cept I couldn't shoot straight since I couldn't see and my hands were shaking like one of those ugly little rat dogs.

"Hey!" It was Aror at my side.

"Get over the quivers, kid. We need you."

I did. It took a while, long enough for me to end up called "Quivers", but I mastered my hands. Or I thought I did.

And now they're shaking again. I guess this arena's just bringing back memories from the resistance. Not hard, since it was just a year ago. One painful year ago.

"What was that about?" Hisses Sparky, jogging to my side as I set off again at a quick clip. I know Sneak and Tech and everybody will be watching me. I've scared them; made them think there's something wrong with the person they're entrusting their lives to.

"It was nothing, Sparky. Baldy just needed some encouragement."

I don't turn my head, but I look at Jiminy from the corner of my eye. He's skeptical. He doesn't know what to think after seeing me go off like that. Baldy said that I've got to make choices here, if I wanna keep the others safe. But we all need to make choices; it isn't just me. Jiminy needs to make a choice now too. Is he going to trust me, or will he leave for his own safety? I won't blame him either way.

"…Okay, Reb. If you say so."

****

We've set up camp again, in a clearing I'm sure we've seen before. Baldy is off in a corner; he hasn't spoken a word to anybody since our…talk this afternoon. They all wanted to know what I said to him, but I just told them it was between us two. I didn't really want them to know, and it wasn't all that important. Drai just touched a nerve is all.

I haven't been myself though, I must admit. Flute's worried I guess. She hasn't left my side in hours.

The anthem plays abruptly. The face of the dude with the graying hair from 7 bubbles up onto a giant screen. What was his name?

"Murk Fascia."

Oh. Murk.

"That's both from 7," Flute pipes up.

"Is it?" I reply without really thinking about it.

"Mm-hm. The girl died a few days back. I remembered her because she seemed so nice. You know, at the interviews and stuff."

"I guess so. I didn't really pay attention to anybody. I was still too mad to think straight at that point."

She looks at me, her head propped up on her chin. "You didn't seem mad. You acted like you were all confident that you would get home, and all firm in your belief that the rebellion was right. But you didn't seem mad. Was that just acting?"

"Was about ready to punch that interviewer lady."

"You wanted to punch Tsepelia? Why? She seemed like the nicest person we met the whole time we were there."

"Did you see her face when I talked about the rebellion? She hates us, just like everybody else. She was only pretending to be our friend to get us to open up and tell her stuff."

"I don't know…" Flute mutters, but I can hear the suspicion in her voice. She does believe me.

"I've always been a pretty good judge of character, and I-"

Seashell screams as four wolves launch themselves into the clearing.

I grab my sword and launch myself at the biggest one. Everybody's screaming, except for me and Drai, who had our weapons ready before hand. Seashell's scrambling for a spear, and I feel a rush of relief that somebody else is armed, but she just keeps screaming, swinging the spear in a way that shows she can't use it to save her life. Literally.

A different cry is louder in the clamor. It's not fear now, it's pain. Jiminy's shoulder is ripped open, and he's holding a wolf away as it snaps at his neck.

Flute scrambles for her knife, calling his name. He reels back and punches the animal right in the nose. It yelps and he turns around and sprints off to get his weapon, one of the small axes Baldy and Disha brought into our group.

Audio has stuck with his club, and he and Rocky have gotten into our usual back-to-back fighting formation. Disha's still panicking, and I think I'm going to have to go save her until Red gets to her side and screams an order. She glares at him, but apparently does what he told her to do.

Sneak and Sparky are together, but she didn't want to part with that poisoned knife she has, and he usually fights left-handed but can't since that wolf hurt his shoulder. Neither of them can fight well at the moment, so I start to run towards them.

One of the wolves launches at my leg, getting a mouthful of my pants leg. It's got dried blood caked all over its face. I wonder what it ate earlier. I reel back and swing my sword, which lodges itself in the wolf's neck. The animal is dead before I even yank the blade out.

Drai and Disha are fighting a small wolf with the old bait-it-and-kill-it-from-behind trick that worked for Audio and Sneak the first time we saw these wolves. There were only three then; they must travel in more than one group sometimes.

A wolf's yelp cuts through the clamor. Flute's sliced open the face of one of the wolves; her knife went straight across the wolf's muzzle and sliced across one of its eyes. It's not going to kill it yet, but that knife is poisoned; all of us recognize the smell of something dipped in rat poison. And besides, getting your eye cut open is enough to scare anybody off. That wolf has turned its tail and ran now. The last wolf isn't as brave with all of its buddies gone, and it runs off too.

It's still not quiet, even now that nobody's screaming. Sparky's moaning in pain, and Sneak's got her vest pressed against his shoulder to stop the blood flow, while she calls for some of our bandages.

Fenn fumbles around through one of the packs for a roll of bandages and some disinfectant…something…for the wound. I don't know what it's called.

He lugs them over to Jiminy and Flute, limping a bit. Flute pours some disinfectant on the wound, and Sparky hisses in pain. She dabs some on the corner of the bandage and starts to wash the blood off his shoulder.

It's a nasty wound; Jiminy's shoulder is slashed to ribbons. Figures the one leftie in our group is the one who gets his left shoulder hurt.

"I don't know how to fix it up. I never got that far in school," Flute says, finishing with the bandages, "All I can do is clean it."

"Lemme take a look at it." I pipe up. I've treated gunshot wounds before, too many times. I look at it. It's bad. "Yikes. Never mind. Just bandage it, Sneak."

Jiminy looks up at me wryly. "I just love how capable you are, oh Omnipotent Leader."

I grin, "You forgot Devilish Handsome Brute."

Sparky smiles a little, and Flute chuckles. Jiminy's going to be fine. The others look at us with confusion; they don't know what we're going on about.

"What?" Asks Audio.

"It's an inside joke," I say, in lieu of an actual explanation. It's not important enough to spend time explaining.

"Everybody else okay?" I ask, clapping my hands. "Rocky, you were limping. You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Just turned my ankle," says in that way he has, like he wants to stop talking as fast as he can.

"Alrighty then. Red, Seashell? You okay."

"Yeah. We don't need you to hold our hands all day," Red sneers.

"Ooooooookay. Audio? Flute?"

Tech just raises an eyebrow. He looks like he fared the best of all of us. Sneak gives herself a quick once over. "I'll be okay. Just got scratched a bit is all."

"Me too. I guess we can go back to sleep," I say and stride over to my sleeping bag. Everybody stares at me.

"What?" I exclaim.

"You're kidding," Seashell says flatly.

"What? Why would I be kidding?" I say, completely lost.

"We almost get eaten, and you just want to curl up and go to sleep." She growls.

"Yeah. What, you want to be up all night?"

She snorts and spins on her heel, stalking back to her sleeping bag.

I put down my sword and climb under my blanket and grumble to myself, "Should have named her Crabby."

**Disha Lawrence, District 4**

I kick angrily at the tree, Aramis is staying up for watch first, but I can't get to sleep.

I hate them, hate them, hate them all! They're so stupid! This will never work. The only reason I'm still here is because I'm defenseless on my own. I'm so frustrated by my lack of independence. And I feel hopeless; I'm never going to survive. Maybe I should just kill them all and steal their weapons and then…what? I'm helpless. I'm helpless and hopeless, two of the worst things to be in this arena.

I growl out loud in frustration.

"What's your problem?" Aramis asks in a low voice.

"All these people. This is never going to work."

"You're right." He answers.

"'Course I am." I snort.

"I'm so glad that there's still somebody else with enough of a brain to realize that this is a horrible idea."

"So you don't like this either?"

"No. Abro's just wasting the last weeks of my life with this stupid scheme."

"Does he believe that this is going to work?"

"What?"

"Does he really think this is going to get us out of here?"

"I suppose he…Wait a second." He turns to look at me, begins to speak, then gets up and sits down across from me. "Maybe he doesn't. That makes sense. I mean, what were the rebels really fighting for?" He answers his own question, "They were fighting for their quality of life. So who's to say he won't protect his life now?"

I sit up straight. "What do you mean?"

He leans in closer. "Maybe he's just gathering as many of us as possible so he can use us for as long as he thinks we'll be useful, and then he can just murder us en masse."

I take a sharp breath. I'm about to speak when I'm interrupted.

"Don't say that." It's that girl from 2, standing up at the other side of the clearing. I wonder how long Abro's littlest puppy dog has been awake.

"Why not?" Challenges Aramis. "If he's smart like you seem to think he is, then there's no way he actually believes in his plan. If he does then he's an idiot. Either way it's a stupid choice to follow him."

"Shut _up_." She hisses, fists clenching at her sides.

"Make me." He growls.

"Maybe I will." She snaps.

I cluck my tongue. "Touchy, touchy. She must really like that idiot rebel."

"Stop it!"

"Yeah, him and that other kid that just drools at Abro's feet."

"She's friends with a lot of idiots."

"Stop insulting my friends!"

We laugh. To my surprise, she kicks her blanket away and stalks toward us. "You better shut up. Right. Now."

"What are you gonna do about it, Princess?" Taunts Aramis. She looks like she's about ready to show him what she's going to do about it, when Jiminy Frank props himself up on his elbow, rubbing his eyes.

"Would you guys be quiet? I'm trying to sleep." He squints at Flute. "Sneak, what are you doing up? You don't have to keep watch tonight."

"It's nothing." She manages through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, it's nothing. Right, Princess?" He taunts.

She looks daggers at him as she walks back to her blanket slowly. She lies down and turns her back on us; I can see the stiffness in her body.

I must admit, I'm not usually this nasty. But some people just get on my nerves. Stupid people like Wrianin Abro and Thing 1 and Thing 2 are perfect examples. And it's too bad they're such idiots, because they actually seem really nice.

"Honestly! Kids these days. Can't even have a conversation without one of 'em giving you lip." Aramis says loftily.

I snort. "You know it, Aramis."

"You can call me Narcis."

_Day eighteen._

**Surviving Contestants**

District 1: None

District 2: Fenn Zete (Fen Zet)

Flute French (I don't _really_ need to explain this one, right?)

District 3: Audio Lome (Aw-dee-oh Loam)

To Liscan (Toe Liss-can)

District 4: Disha Lawrence (Disha Lore-ence)

District 5: Aria Lyemann (Ah-ree-uh Lie-man)

District 6: Wrianin Abro (Ree-anne-in Ah-bro)

District 7: None

District 8: Jiminy Frank (Jim-in-ee Fraynk)

District 9: Rhiattany Hurli (Ree-uh-taw-nee Hurley)

Distict 10: Narcis Aramis (Nawr-siss Air-uh-miss)

Pippa Fawn (Pih-puh Fawn)

District 11: Drai Brister (Dray Brisster)

Distict 12: Eulkichu Dambis (Ul-kitch-oo Dam-biss)


	10. Wolfbane

**Chapter Ten**

**Pippa Fawn, District 10**

I'm miserable. So, so, miserable. This isn't a cold anymore. I don't even know what this is. I'm throwing up, I have a terrible fever, my vision is swimming. There's no way I can even walk. But I need food, right? I've got to eat. I found this apple tree, and there's so much fruit that if I can just get there I'll never go hungry again.

I try my best to stand, but it's just so hard! The ground heaves again, making me seasick. I moan and throw up stomach juices again. I stopped producing digested food a while ago. I'm not sure what this stuff is, but it smells bad.

The world does a 180 and I'm lying down again. How did that happen? It must have been magic.

I shove myself up and stumble towards…one of the apple trees. Since when are there three? No, wait, there's just two now. And now there are three again. That's weird. Trees aren't supposed to do that, are they?

I walk straight through one tree. Nope. That's not the tree I want. I head for the next one. I walk straight into it. Much better.

The trunk is swaying back and forth in waves. It's really very cool. I mean, how many trees have _you_ seen wiggle around like worms? But it's making me even dizzier. I frown. That's not very nice. I paw at an apple, but they're all dancing away from me. I would think this game was really fun if I was feeling okay, but I'm not, and it's making me cranky.

"Okay. Stop it." I order.

They don't stop. I growl in annoyance.

I stumble back for my staff. It tries to wiggle away too, but I swing my arm back and forth over the grass in a wide weeping motion until my hand bumps into and I pounce.

I stagger back over to the tree and angrily wave my staff back and forth, letting it crash through the branches. A few ripe apples go flying. I fall to my knees and hit my hands on the ground until I find one of the yellow-green fruit.

I pick it up and move it toward my mouth. I miss the first couple of times but then it goes in. I take a big bite and try not to let it fall out of my mouth as the world goes around like the washing machine in the mayor's house. Their washing machine is the only one I've ever seen, and it's very cool; you put your clothes in and it washes them for you. Just like that! Maybe this is what it's like for clothes in that machine. I hope not, because this is no fun at all.

I chew the bite carefully. I swallow. Whoa. The sky is underneath me. And now it's above me again. This would be fun, if my tummy didn't feel all yucky.

I eat as much of my apple as I can before I start biting my fingers when I'm trying to eat it. I lay down, trying to avoid dizziness. I lay like that for who knows how long before I'm suddenly stiff.

It's the familiar paralysis that comes when I get sick. Chunks of semi-digested apple shoot out of my mouth. Since I'm on my back, it goes all over me and some of it doesn't doesn't even get out of my mouth. I moan and roll over. This is so _gross_. I crawl to my pack and fumble for my water jug. I upturn over my body and let it wash my front off. It's gone now. Where can I get more water? I'm going to need more, even before I can keep food down.

I hear footsteps. Somebody's coming. Maybe they can help!

"Help." I croak. I have never spoken to anyone since the start of this Game. It feels like I just had my first kiss or something.

Their footsteps are closer now. They stop, standing, looking down at me from above. "Help." I repeat, and I try to grab their ankle. They step back, probably thinking I'll get them sick.

I can't see them very well. I think it's a boy; they have short brown hair.

"Who are you?" They ask. It's a girl's voice. It must be that District 3 girl then. Aren't I afraid of her? I can't imagine why I would be, but for some reason that's what I think.

"Pippa…Fawn." I manage. "I need water. Please."

The person, To, crouches next to me. Maybe she'd an alien. Or she might be magic. That would explain why she can walk right when the world is spinning like the wheel on a cart.

"Did you eat something that did this to you?" She asks.

"No," I croak, "Water."

"Alright." She pulls out a canteen, and says, "Open your mouth."

I obey, and next thing I know she's pouring the contents into my mouth. I keep mouth open until it's all the way and then close it, drinking part of my mouthful each time I swallow. Water's so good. Next time you drink water, I want you to savor it. I want you to really think about how it feels sliding down your throat. Think of the people like me, just dying for a mouthful.

To turns and leaves. Yes, I'm sure now that I didn't need to be afraid of her. She shared her water; she must truly be a good person.

A shadow passes over me fast. Or maybe it's a person. They all look the same, you know. And it was going so fast.

As the sun ambles across the sky, it seems solid in my spinning world. I love that sun. And as breathing becomes too hard to do anymore, I love the feeling on my sun on my face. It's a wonderful end to my story, a happy memory of the world I've left behind.

**Rhiattany Hurli, District 9**

I look at the girl, Pippa, from across the clearing. To is walking away, and it's clear that she's going to let this girl be. I can't decide if this is kindness or cruelty. Maybe it's good that she's leaving this hopelessly sick girl be, or maybe it's horrible that she's letting her suffer. I don't know. Of course, it's my natural reaction side with horrible, since this is To I'm talking about, but my opinion really doesn't matter.

What it really boils down to is: what does Pippa want? If she could choose would she end it now or hang on as long as she could? I would hang on for dear life. When you're alive things can always get better, but once you're dead you're done.

But I don't know what Pippa wants. I can't ask her, so I force myself to assume that To didn't see the point in killing somebody who was just going to die soon anyway. Maybe it's even true, and this is all an act of mercy.

To disappears into the clearing on the other side of the woods. I curse. I've let myself zone out. Now I need to choose whether to dash across the open clearing, or skirt the edges and risk falling behind.

I make a quick decision and run as quietly as I can out into the clearing.

If To were to come back, to turn around, I'd be a simple target for her bow and arrows and…goodbye Rhiattany. I hold my breath as I sprint, like that's going to help me be quieter.

I leap over Pippa, who's lying on her back and looking dazed. I land with a loud thump. I'm almost to the safety of the trees now, just a few more seconds. I've never been particularly fast, but I'm in such a panic that I'm going faster than I've ever gone before. I will not die, and I will not lose To Liscan. I am obsessed with getting revenge against this girl.

The trees close around me, and I need to hold back a counter-productive sigh of relief. I listen for To. I hear a rustle a ways off and follow it carefully. I glimpse her hair briefly and smile. I still got her.

I don't know where To's headed, but knowing there's definitely some strategy that us mere mortals will never piece together until she deigns to tell us.

But then again, maybe she's never had a strategy, and she's just incredibly skilled and lucky.

Nah.

Not even I believe that. Whatever else I can say about To, she's smart. And she stands a good chance of surviving. Of course, she won't. I'll make sure of that.

She walks through the forest for a long time, without any apparent purpose. I don't know where she's headed, until a river comes within view over the crest of a hill. Even To needs water, I guess. She opened the canteen and submerged it, trying to fill it up. She looked nervously. She was so vulnerable right now! If I had her bow that would be it for To Liscan.

She checks her canteen; it's full now. She quickly sticks her head under the river's cold water, then comes back up. She shakes her head like a dog and sends water droplets flying everywhere.

To sets off again, purposefully. I tail her but am careful not to just walk exactly where she's stepped herself. I don't her want to took turn around and find me walking right behind her.

I suppose she's just looking for more of our fellow children to kill. Isn't she a lovely person?

She doesn't have any luck today, and eventually climbs up a tree to sit the night out. Sweet dreams, you monster.

I stay on the ground. I can't risk going up a tree and making noise. I'm pretty sure that To's reached her mercy quota for the…forever probably. And besides, it's easy to let someone live when they'll never pose any danger to you. And I'm considerably more dangerous than poor Pippa. I pull my arms out of my shirt and into my shirt. It may not be the best idea when it comes to self-defense, but To will probably take care of anybody who gets close. And I am _cold_.

The anthem plays. I can just barely see To shift in the moonlight. If I didn't know she was there, I'd never see her.

"Pippa Fawn" And there's a picture of that poor girl who was throwing up all over herself.

You know, To may be safest up in a tree, but it works to my advantage as well. Not even she can get out of a tree without making enough noise to wake up a light sleeper like me. I smile a little. To may be one of the big contenders in this competition, but she's not perfect. Too bad for her.

_Day nineteen._

****

I'm woken, as usual, by the rattling of branches as To slips down from her tree. She grimaces from the noise as her feet hit the ground, looks back and forth carefully, and jogs away with just-woke-up unsteadiness. She always starts off the day with a jog; I find that habit slightly ridiculous. I mean, we're not just getting out of bed for a stroll here. A morning jog is something something so mundane, something only health nuts do, comfortable in their homes and routines. Oh well. Maybe she's trying to wake herself up.

I get ready for another long day of following her around. I'm not disappointed. After a while we end up at a creek. To crouches nervously next to the bank and sticks her canteen under the water's flow. Man, she is so exposed right now. If I had her bow, BAM! That'd be it for To Liscan.

When her canteen is full, dunks her head in the water and quickly comes up, shaking her head like a dog. Water drops fly off her short hair.

All of a sudden she whips an arrow to her bow and points it into the trees. "I know you're there! Come out!"

She's not looking at me, so I should be safe. Slowly a boy emerges from the trees. He holds up his hands. No weapons.

"Who are you?" She demands. Pushy, pushy.

"Eulkichu Dambis." Answers the boy, who apparently needs to practice his quiet feet. I've been following her forever and I've never been found out.

"District 12?" She asks.

"Yeah."

"I remember you. I don't like your name."

"You're the one who spent half of their interview complaining about the fact that they were named after toes."

"Just because I hate my name doesn't mean I like yours."

"...You going to shoot me?"

"Yeah"

"When?" Sheesh, was this guy suicidal or something?

"I don't know. Whenever."

"What if I attack you?"

"Then I dodge and then shoot you."

"You're pretty confident."

To shrugs, "I have good reason."

He wrinkles his nose. "You proud of the fact that you've killed people?"

"No, not proud. But it had to be done. And I'll do it again if I need to."

For a moment he looks like he's about to speak, but all of a sudden he lunges at her. And something lunges at him.

It's a wolf. All of a sudden, they stop preparing to kill each other, and turn to the inhuman threats. I shrink back as much as I can. I don't have any weapons beside To's one arrow, so if they come after me I'm dead.

There's something fascinating about watching those two fight. Their styles are so different. To is calculated and efficient, while Eulkichu is wild and explosive. If they joined up, they'd be unstoppable. Lucky for the rest of us that To's not the kind to make alliances.

There's two wolves, one that's just barely stumbling around on four legs, and another that looks like it's in its prime. The weak one is dispatched quickly, and all of a sudden Eulkichu has disappeared. Like a magic trick. To shots the other one from very close range. The big bad wolf didn't stand a chance.

To stands for a moment, panting. Then she curses in frustration and begins sweeping the area for Eulkichu. Her prey keeps slipping out of her fingers. Poor girl. She ought to be more careful. Not.

She visibly restrains herself. She's doing her best not to just explode. I'm not sure if that would be a good thing or a bad thing. It could scare people off, or draw them to her.

She takes a rattling deep breath and sets off again. Whatever else you can say about her, she does keep at it. If she wasn't so evil I'd admire her. But she is. And I don't. I follow her into the woods and disappear.

**Audio Lome, District 3**

No faces today. Good I guess. I wonder if this is going to work. I've been obsessed with the idea that it won't and were gonna die. I don't tell it to the others, though. Most of 'em would get mad at me. And the ones that wouldn't hate me anyway.

It's just...I can't find anything else to think of. Except my new friends. But everything else reminds me of home, which reminds me that I'll probably never see it again. And even Flute can't find much to talk about that in no way relates to home. And the weather gets really boring after a while. And yes, I've really resorted to talking about the weather. It was sunny, by the way.

Now it's night, and cold night air is thin and freezing on my nose 'n the tips of my ears.

Flute's over with Wrainin and Sparky. SO it's just me 'n Rocky right now. We're both quiet and happy with it. We're friends and all, but neither of us wanna talk.

I wonder if he's thinkin' about the same things I am. I don't know if he really believes in Reb's plan the way Jiminy and Sneak do, and I'm a little scared to ask.

"What're things like in District 3?" He asks all of a sudden.

"Oh, I dunno. We think a lot about school. And working in the factories. But if you do well enough you can avoid working and just go to school."

"Huh. In 2 it's kind of the same. If you do well in school you keep going. If you don't qualify you have to go to work. My brother got his first job after eighth grade."

"Did you do a good job in school?" I ask.

"I did okay. Good enough to get into high school. But I wouldn't have made college." He sound a little wistful, but not much.

"I was- am- going to go to college," I tell him. "And get married someday."

"You like anybody?" He asks, tipping his head back to look at me.

"There isn't anybody really special. I mean, there are some really cute girls, but nobody I really like." I answer. I wish there was. My mom always jokes I was a family man even before I was born. "Do you like anybody?"

He looks up at the sky. "Yeah." he mumbles. This isn't the sort of stuff I usually talk about with my friends. I guess our emotions have been thrown outta whack by this arena.

"What's she like?" I coax.

"She really smart. She's going to graduate college for sure. She's pretty shy, like me. But a lot of the time we end up looking at each other. She's really nice. I guess I don't know what to say to her even more than I usually don't know what to say to girls, just because she's so different."

"She sounds great." I say.

"She is. And she knows who she is, I'm pretty sure." He smiles a little. shyly, "Now, anyway."

"I hope you see her again." Is all I can think to say.

"Yeah." He laughs bitterly, "Me and you both."

"Hmm." The conversation is over, and we both let it die out. I wonder if he loved that shy girl back in District 2. I don't want to ask though. He doesn't want to talk about this. I mean, we are guys. Not always so good with the whole "expressing our feelings" bit. But I'm glad he finally got up the courage to tell her, on national T.V., no less.

I roll over to my other side. I just can't escape the idea that this won't work. So not only am I going to die, but I'm going to spend my last days worrying about it. Wonderful. Just peachy.

_Day twenty._

**Surviving Contestants**

District 1: None

District 2: Fenn Zete (Fen Zet)

Flute French (I don't _really_ need to explain this one, right?)

District 3: Audio Lome (Aw-dee-oh Loam)

To Liscan (Toe Liss-can)

District 4: Disha Lawrence (Disha Lore-ence)

District 5: Aria Lyemann (Ah-ree-uh Lie-man)

District 6: Wrianin Abro (Ree-anne-in Ah-bro)

District 7: None

District 8: Jiminy Frank (Jim-in-ee Fraynk)

District 9: Rhiattany Hurli (Ree-uh-taw-nee Hurley)

Distict 10: Narcis Aramis (Nawr-siss Air-uh-miss)

District 11: Drai Brister (Dray Brisster)

Distict 12: Eulkichu Dambis (Ul-kitch-oo Dam-biss)


	11. Camp Arena

**A/N**- I get school off tomorrow, so I should be able to crank out at least one chapter this weekend. Shall we happy dance? I think we shall. Anyway, just wanted to tell you the good news. Now on to the story.

**Chapter Eleven**

**To Liscan, District 3**

I can't believe it! Another slipped through my fingers! And it wasn't even on purpose this time. Let's face it; I'm good, but I'm learning as I go. It's not like I've been trained for this. Well, I learned something today. Never look away. Ever.

There's just something that bugs me about this. I hardly took my eyes off him for a second, not even exaggerating, and he disappeared completely. He must have known something that I don't. Some secret. He isn't magic; there's no such thing as magic. So there has to be a very simple, logical explanation for this. I just didn't look hard enough.

I'll fix that now.

**Aria Lyemann, District 5**

Aria stumbled through the forest. She'd been eating whatever she could find for days on end. It had done her little good.

She bawled like a bumbling animal and continued on her rambling journey through the forest. She was hungry and tired. She was sore from sleeping on whatever she had been standing on before the anthem. That was the only way her mind could understand that it was time to sleep now. Her destroyed consciousness associated the memory of waiting up for the death toll, and going to sleep. Now she just collapsed wherever she had been standing when her brain gave her the "Anthem over. Sleep follows." message.

She gave another abrupt cry and fell over a root. She mumbled about a river and staggered right into the path of To Liscan.

To stiffened and put an arrow to her bow. "What-"

But Aria's memory-instincts kicked in, and she launched herself at To. She dug her knife in the District 3 girl's upper left arm and To screamed in pain. This crazy girl who couldn't form a complete sentence hurt her more than anyone else ever had. It made her mad.

She kicked Aria back, a high kick right to the chest. Aria stumbled backwards, bleated and lunged forward again.

To shot her in the stomach, but it didn't even slow her down. Aria slammed into her at full speed, forcing the arrow even deeper into her stomach. Aria shrieked and sunk her teeth into To's neck. To screamed again, reeled back and punched Aria in the nose. With a crunch, Aria's nose broke, again.

To grabbed Aria's loose hair, and the girl's teeth lost their grip on her neck. To flipped Aria off her.

The District 5 girl knocked her bow away. It spun off into the bushes.

To punched Aria again and lunged after her bow.

Aria grabbed at her shoulder and launched herself onto To's back. She wrapped her arms around To's neck and squeezed. To gagged and pulled at Aria's arms. She spun and bashed the girl who held onto her in an absurd piggy-back ride into a tree. When it didn't work, she slammed again, harder, and Aria released in a hurry.

Aria shoved To forward, but the short-haired girl rolled back to her feet like a gymnast and turned. She dashed toward her bow, but Aria grabbed her shoulders, spun her around, and smashed her into a branch. To's breath left her with a _whoosh_ and she reeled back and kicked Aria in the chest.

Aria stumbled back and the other forced her back till they went over the edge of the creek.

The creek was deeper than it looked, and they ended up wrestling in hip-high water. They both scrabbled for purchase against the sand and pebbles of the creek bottom. Aria gave a tremendous push, and To turned her own force against her.

Aria was knocked backward. To grabbed her throat, held her underwater, and squeezed.

Bad move.

One of Aria's instinct-memories cried out, and her arms slashed robotically at To's eyes. The nails of one hand sliced a shallow gash in her cheek. Struggling to keep Aria under control, To went down as well.

The water added to the confusion. Somehow, the girls ended up on the other side of the bank, still wrestling. Aria spun To around, and the District 3 girl looked briefly over her shoulder. Abruptly, she flipped Aria over her back and down into the deep chasm. The final child of District 5 disappeared with a final scream, and was gone.

**Rhiattany Hurli, District 9**

I clench my jaw as the girl, something that starts with an A, stops screaming abruptly. To killed her. Even though she was…damaged. To could have run away, or knocked her out, or something. But she didn't. Maybe To can do no right in my eyes, but still. This is a new low for her.

She stands, panting, looking down the chasm. Then she hops off the ledge.

I'm stunned. My jaw literally drops. Did she just kill herself? Then her hands pops up, scrabbling for something to hold on to. I have to work hard not to groan with disappointment. So there was a ledge or something. Apparently too good for the girl she just murdered.

To swings up and dusts herself off, looking around with a frown. Probably trying to figure out what happened to her bow. I considered taking it but, ironically, I need her to have her bow and arrow for my plan to kill her. And plus, it would alert her to someone's presence.

So I watch from behind some random bush and she kicks around for her bow. Actually, this kind of moment is when she's most dangerous to me. She's usually so purposeful that she just heads in one direction and I can anticipate her actions. But when she's roaming around aimlessly, like now, I can never be sure if she'll drift too close to my hiding spot.

She finds her bow hooked onto a bush. With a long huff of breath she heads back to the chasm. Maybe I could push her over the edge right now. But it's too late. She's turning toward me.

"So that's where he went." She mutters to herself. I figure she means Eulkichu, that boy she fought. She must have found some evidence that he was living there, or at least that there was a human present.

She winces and seems to remember the stab wound in her arm. She slices off some of her vest to tie off and use as a bandage. The whole first aid operation takes less than a minute.

She sighs. I guess she's bored now that there's nobody in the general vicinity that she can murder. I can't really do much until she decides where she wants to go, so I crouch down lower and hope against hope that she doesn't decide she wants to go by me. That would be really bad. I'm beginning to question the wisdom of getting so close to her when she turns and heads…east I believe. Never been too good with all that stuff.

But she just wanders sluggishly. Maybe now that she killed crazy girl her blood lust has been quieted for the day. If it hasn't, then there's never going to be any help for this girl. Not that I have much hope for her at this point anyway. 

_Day twenty._

_Day twenty-one._

**Disha Lawrence, District 4**

I hum a little to myself. Since I became friends with Narcis, everything has gotten a lot easier. We can be ourselves when it's just the two of us; we have very similar personalities. We get along easily and share our sarcastic sense of humor. And whenever we're too sure that this hare-brained scheme is going to kill us, we can blow off a little steam. He's making this whole thing bearable.

We spend almost all day together. We don't want to be around any of those idiots and they reciprocate. We've been pulling our sleeping bags up next to each other for warmth at night. This is when we do a lot of our complaining and theorizing. When we don't need to speak up to be heard.

We talked for hours last night, and slept in. Now French is shaking us both awake, and not too gently either. She's never gotten over us having a little fun at Abro's expense. Tsk tsk. Isn't nice to hold grudges.

She glares as I open my eyes, and tosses me s hunk of bread. Stale.

I hear Abro mumbling to Jiminy Frank that we're almost out of food. I frown. If it was just me and Abro, that food would have lasted us for days, or weeks. But this crowd burned through it like no other.

I frown as I roll my bedding up. What are we going to do for food? I mean, I can't hunt, and I don't think the others can either.

I push it into my pack, and swing the whole thing onto my shoulders. I scratch my hair off my head, and grimace in disgust. I hate having greasy hair, and of course the Capitol wasn't thoughtful enough to send us into the arena with some shampoo. If I get out of here, greasy hair is one thing I will never put up with again. That and sleeping in uncomfortable positions. Out here the dew covers us every day. So we wake up cold, wet, and sore. Camp Arena, now registering for the summer.

I shrug unhappily. I miss sleeping in. Well, that's not quite true. I've always been happy to wake up whenever, but I hate having to wander around for hours every day. My feet are sore.

"Alright, gang. Let's get a move on. Thattaway." Abro points off in some random direction and sets off like he knows what he's doing. Yeah right. He's a kid like us. He has got no idea what he's doing.

We're back in familiar order. Abro and Baldy, French and Jiminy, Lome and Zete, and last me and Narcis. We've considered just sneaking off sometime when nobody's looking at us, but we've never had the initiative.

So we walk behind the others like servants, whispering bitterly. We could leave, but I doubt the others would approve. They'd be bitter, and maybe even consider us dangerous. When we encountered them again they might see us as enemies, and they care enough about each other to take down threats to the group. I'm frustrated. I don't _want_ these people to die, but I want out of their idiot plan. Stupid people are going to be my death.

It's high noon when we stop for lunch. We chew through some nasty but edible plant that Blister-face found on the walk, and oddly enough some salt. I don't know what genius decided to hoard the salt and eat it on its own, but we now have grossweed-n-salt salad for lunch. The gourmet cuisine of Camp Arena.

I choke down…it, whatever it is and sit down with my back against a tree. Narcis and I finish our stuff in silence. We always finish eating before we talk.

"We should just leave." He mutters to me.

I shake my head. "We've gone over this before. It's too dangerous. We leave and we're murderous pariahs, like To."

He frowns. "I guess. But still. I wish we weren't tied down here."

"What difference would it make? Even if we weren't we'd still die." I've always had a fondness for playing the devil's advocate. I always give him something to argue against, and I do my best to make it good. It's our game, the Camp Arena debate team.

"We wouldn't be wandering around under some fool's orders. We would be able to die ourselves, with our honor. Not like sheep led to slaughter."

I nod. "One point."

He grins. "That's nine. I've been keeping track."

I roll my eyes and Narcis chuckles. Whenever one of us makes an argument the other can't refute they get a point. I have two. He has nine now, apparently. I haven't been keeping track, but it's not like he has anything to gain from cheating.

"When we're all dead, at least everybody will know I saw it coming." He mutters.

I look at him from the corner of my eye. "Is that what this is all about? Your legacy?"

"Sort of, I guess. Maybe I'm trying to plan my way out of it."

"Well, if you figure something out, make sure to tell me about it."

"You'll be the first, Disha."

"Thanks."

"Any time."

**Eulkichu Dambis, District 12**

I shiver, missing my nice, sheltered ledge. I grumble to myself about To. She had to come along to ruin it. It was practically a cave, walled mostly in so that the wind couldn't get at me. I kept my stuff there, and I lost two rabbits that I had stuffed into the very back. Oh well. It's not worth going back for. Besides, I'm getting better at hunting every day. I should be fine.

I sit up until the anthem comes on. Nobody.

I sigh and lean back against the ground. I curl up tighter, trying to keep warm. And eventually I fall asleep and dream about home.

And when I wake up, home is going to be my aim. No more running away. It's time to really play this Game. 

_Day twenty-two._

**Surviving Contestants**

District 1: None

District 2: Fenn Zete (Fen Zet)

Flute French (I don't _really_ need to explain this one, right?)

District 3: Audio Lome (Aw-dee-oh Loam)

To Liscan (Toe Liss-can)

District 4: Disha Lawrence (Disha Lore-ence)

District 5: None

District 6: Wrianin Abro (Ree-anne-in Ah-bro)

District 7: None

District 8: Jiminy Frank (Jim-in-ee Fraynk)

District 9: Rhiattany Hurli (Ree-uh-taw-nee Hurley)

Distict 10: Narcis Aramis (Nawr-siss Air-uh-miss)

District 11: Drai Brister (Dray Brisster)

Distict 12: Eulkichu Dambis (Ul-kitch-oo Dam-biss)


	12. It'll Be

**Chapter Twelve**

**Flute French, District 2**

I glare at them as they talk to each other. I'll never be able to forgive them; I think this arena has messed with my emotions more than I knew. I shouldn't care what they think, but it's just driving me nuts.

Jiminy just asked me a question. I guess I should be paying attention to the conversation I'm having.

"Uh, sorry, what?" I ask.

"Do you know any of the plants around here? Something you guys use in District 2 to hold off hunger or something?"

"I don't think so. Give me a minute." I turn and begin circling the clearing. There are some edible plants we use for energy and things, but I doubt if I'll find any of them here. It doesn't seem like the Capitol would be nice enough to include unnecessary food sources. Jiminy follows me silently as I bend down and examine different plants. "No. Uh-uh. What _is_ that?" I mutter to myself. It takes a few minutes to complete the rounds and look over every inch of the clearing. I can just feel Big Jerk and Little Jerk staring at me, but no one else seems to have noticed me.

"Anything?" Jiminy begs.

"No, sorry." I say. I don't quite know why he's so upset. "Why?

He blows a long breath between his lips and looks over my head, thinking. "I don't want you to get worried-" he begins, and I tell this is another one of those "You're too young to be let in on uber-important adult conversation" rambles.

"I got sent in here to fight other kids to the death." I say flatly, "What have you got that's worse than that? I can handle it, Jiminy."

He smiles crookedly. "Yeah I guess you can. Come on." He turns and walks over to Reb and Baldy, who have been valiantly staggering through an awkward conversation. They both look really glad to have an excuse to stop talking.

"Hey. Can we go for a walk?" Jiminy says.

Wrianin's eyebrows raise. I guess this must be code.

"Sure. Is Flute gonna come?" He answers casually.

"Yeah."

"'Kay. We'll be back in a minute. Tech's in charge till I get back." Wrianin calls.

"I'm what?" Audio says in surprise, but Reb just walks off. Tech blinks in surprise, and I just shrug at him before I hurry off after Wrianin. Poor guy. Our resident jerks are going to give him a hard time, that's for sure.

Reb and Jiminy talk about something ridiculously random, like their favorite pants or something. I eventually just tune it out and wonder what was so disturbing that Sparky didn't want to tell me. That he's got a horrible fashion sense? That Reb likes pink? What? We walk for maybe five minute before Jiminy grabs my arm. I was so zoned out I didn't even notice that they'd stopped. I almost walked right past them. "Uh, thanks." I mutter, a bit embarrassed.

"No problem. Now, how much is left?" He says, immediately turning serious.

"Wait, me?" I say. I've got no idea what's going on.

"Not you. Wrianin." He replies.

"You know Jiminy. It's all gone." He says grimly.

Sparky groans. "I was hoping that you were exaggerating. Or that you would have found more by now. Something." Jiminy sits down, propping his elbows against his knees and resting his face in his hands.

"What's gone?" I exclaim.

"I'm not exaggerating. We're out." Wrianin replies, but not to me.

"We're out of what?!" I explode. The boys look at me in surprise, like I'd just followed them here and they had no idea that I was in on the conversation.

"Our food." Says Reb frankly. I stop. Oh. So that's why Jiminy needed me to look for plants.

"But- but- just yesterday you said we were getting a little low." I protest.

"Well, we were a lot low. And we are trying to feed eight people here." He points out. "I couldn't just say 'Hey guys, we're out of food by the way. Just thought you'd like to know.' It would have been anarchy."

I nod slowly. It's true. If they knew how low we were on food, Aramis and Lawrence would be out of here right away. Drai too. He's only sticking around because he thinks it's to his benefit. Audio and Fenn wouldn't leave so fast, but if it came down to starving to death or being loyal, they'd choose their lives. Not that I blame them. I would do the same thing. Or would I?

With a shock, I realize how indelibly fragile this alliance is. Two of us hate everyone; one of us…well nobody really understands him; two of us just float awkwardly in the middle; and three of us would die for each other. But only three. Only Reb, Sparky, and I truly belong. Everyone else is held here by a very thin line between hate and necessity. It hurts. I want to trust these people (even the ones I don't like) but I can't. Because they don't want to trust me, not completely and unconditionally the way Reb and Jiminy do. I suddenly feel really small and alone. We're not one big, happy, dysfunctional family the way I thought. We're something less permanent.

I realize why we've got to lie. It's the only way we can hold on to this little piece of control and certainty that we still have. I rub my arms absently, trying to smooth the sudden goose bumps.

"We'll have to start being hunter-gatherers. No more of this prancing around the woods stuff." Wrianin begins briskly.

"Your idea." Jiminy puts in.

"What?" Reb frowns. Apparently he still isn't used to Sparky interrupting him.

"The 'prancing around the woods stuff' was you idea." Sparky persists.

"Whatever! The point is that food needs to be our focus." Reb is annoyed now. Because Jiminy is right. Reb hates it when he's right.

"Shouldn't we get Drai in on this?" I offer.

"Yeah. But how can we get him not to ask questions?" Jiminy says, frowning.

"Maybe just tell him the truth." I know it's a weak plan. It's not even a plan, really, just wishful thinking. Jiminy and Wrianin look at me.

"Yeah," I sigh, "I know. I wish we could though."

"Me too, Flute. Me too." Reb gives me a pat on the back and sits down. I sit down next to him and lean my head on his shoulder. My two big brothers, more or less. Jiminy sits down across from us, criss-cross-applesauce, or Indian style, or whatever you want to call it. You know, that position where you almost look like you're doing yoga and are going to burst out in "Ohmmmmmmm…" Any second. That's how he's sitting.

"Maybe we should just be vague about it. Say that we've changed our strategy." Sighs Jiminy.

"It's not much. But it'll have to do." Wrianin nods and then mutters something under his breath.

"What was that?" I say, curious.

"Nothing," he mutters, "I'm just going all sentimental."

"C'mon. We're not going to make fun of you or anything." Sparky points out.

"I said that I wish Aror was here." Wrianin admits. Well, goodness knows _that_ was incredibly helpful.

"And Aror is?" Jiminy prompts.

"He is, was, the leader of my squadron. When I was in the resistance." Wrianin says grudgingly. Jeeze, this is like trying to get a four-year-old to give up a piece of candy.

Jiminy frowns. We all know the dim view he takes of the resistance. "Why on earth would you want him here? Was he a real jerk?"

Reb chuckles. "Naw. He was someone I really cared about. The best leader a guy could have. I meant I wish he could give me advice right now. He'd know what to do; he always knew what to do." He waves weakly at the sky. It's hard to tell where a camera is. "Hey Aror." He says to the maybe-camera. "I bet you could figure something out. Maybe you have, and you're just banging your head against the wall, so mad that I can't figure it out myself."

Jiminy and I are silent. He's not talking to us right now, and we don't need to get in the way of what may be his last conversation with his old friend.

"I bet you couldn't believe that they were going to do something like this, huh? Me neither. And you were probably just as surprised as me when I got picked. More than a thousand kids no older than eighteen fighting in the rebellion, and only one of us got picked. And it was me, What are the odds, eh?

"I'm sure you thought the Capitol couldn't get worse than it was. Well, it is now. Somehow. They're geniuses at causing pain; nobody can deny that they're geniuses.

"But maybe we can still outsmart 'em. Do you think my plan's a good idea? Either way I'm sure you're right. You're always right. Maybe just the fact that you supported the rebellion makes it a good idea. Maybe this is going to help somebody someday. Maybe it'll give them the strength to fix this messed-up country once and for all. But maybe not. Oh well. If it happens soon enough to do us any good then we'll know. If not then it really won't matter, I guess.

"You know, I could really use your help right now. If you were here you'd know what kind of plants and such we could eat. When I first started in your squadron I was convinced that you knew everything. No joke. For a while I thought you were some genetically engineered super-genius that had escaped the Capitol labs and didn't want to go back. At least, that was one of my conspiracy theories.

"Then I guess I just got to know you better. And you're human. Don't worry; I figured that out. But you still seemed really perfect. Like there was just something about you that couldn't lose. I guess that part just took a vacation right at the end of the rebellion.

"I don't really know if you're alive anymore. They may have executed you. But if you are, I just hope you're listening. You were a really great guy. You were my mentor and my really good friend. Thanks. I just hope I turn out as half as good of a person as you did. I think I'm almost there, right?"

He grins, looking like he's about to cry. But he holds it back, because Reb is strong that way.

"Thanks, Aror. You're the best guy I know. Thanks. For everything." He wipes his eyes on his sleeve. People say that men shouldn't cry. But that's dumb. I don't respect him any less now than before he cried. And he doesn't seem like he's being a wimp either. Maybe it's the faint smile on his lips, or the way his arm around my shoulder is as strong and confident as ever.

"Well, let's go give Sparky's plan a try." He states briskly, and stands up.

"W…wha…" I say, confused by the abrupt change of subject.

"Let's _what_?" Asks Jiminy, bewildered as well.

"The others must be wondering where we are by now. Let's go."

"Okay." We look at each other and he helps me to my feet, scratching his head. Our bipolar rebel is already striding off, whistling to himself. I guess it felt good to get all that off his chest.

It doesn't feel so great when the first thing we hear once we're in earshot of camp is screaming.

**Wrianin Abro, District 6**

My heart drops into my stomach. It's a girl's scream; Seashell's in trouble. If she's in trouble then the others are too. I break into a sprint. I can't believe it. I leave for five minutes and…what? What's happening to those kids?

We got a good distance away to be sure no one would eavesdrop. Seashell must have been screaming loud for me to hear her all the way over here. I kick it up another few notches.

"Hey! Reb!" Calls Jiminy.

I'm leaving him and Sneak behind, but it doesn't matter. They know where camp is. They'll find their way back. But I need to reach those screams. I can't help but remember the last time I just heard screams like this, and didn't know what was causing them, what with having just poured my heart out about Aror. It was two years ago.

I was sleeping in my regulation resistance tent. It was just a sheet draped over a frame, but it was private. The sheet was pretty thick and I couldn't see through it. I had fallen asleep a while back. All of a sudden I was woken up by screams.

I knew better than to sit up in surprise. And a good thing too, because just then a bullet ripped through the tent wall.

I scrambled for my gun and crawled out on my stomach. I hid behind a tree and whipped around, trying to get my bearings. It's a firefight, obviously. I know that much. Where is everybody? I can't see a thing.

Then I see Vik, who leans from behind a tree to shoot at a Capitol soldier. He aims, and before he can pull the trigger a bullet rips into his temple. Part of his head blows off. It's dark enough that I'm spared the gory details, but my heart stops. Vik is…no. No way. After two years he can't possibly be dead. That's just not right. And Vik's got a wife and a son who's less than a year old. He can't be dead, but he is.

Vik was the first to go. I have no idea how long it went on. We lost so many people. Kirban, Toki, Demetrius…It just went on and on. I was crying out of anger and confusion.

It stopped eventually. I fell to my knees, quaking. Someone was moaning in pain, and then they stopped. Another death. It was mind numbing.

I sobbed loudly. Someone was calling out names. There were too many silences, too many people who couldn't answer the role call. "Wrianin?" My name started with W so I was always last.

I tried to manage an "alive" but all that came out was "Aaaaah…"

"Hey. You wounded, kid?" Aror asked brusquely.

"N-no." I managed to whisper.

"Then get over it. You're alive, and whole. You've got to turn your mind to the people who aren't so lucky." He wasn't being cruel. He was matter-of-fact and logical. It cut through the fog.

"Yessir." I muttered.

He put his hand on my shoulder and looked me in the eyes. "It'll be, kid. It might not be okay, but it'll be."

I'd never thought of it that way. That I should keep my chin up just because the future was still a possibility for me.

And it was hard to follow that advice while we buried seven of my friends. But I did it. So even when I was chosen for the Games I was chanting in my head _It'll be, it'll be, it'll be, it'll be…_

And now here I was again, running toward these screams. Would I be burying more people today?

I skidded into the clearing. And there was no fight waging. No blood. No wolves and no enemy children. There was just Seashell looking like she was about to strangle Tech. Who looked like he might just let her.

"What is going on?" I panted.

"SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT _UP_!" Seashell screamed and stormed off.

I turned to Audio. "What's happening?"

He just shakes his head miserably. "_Never_ put me in charge. Ever again."

Flute and Sparky thundered into the clearing.

"What is going on?!" He panted.

Tech throws up his hands in defeat, turns on his heel, and stalks to the other side of the clearing, where he sits down crankily and pulls his knees up to his chest. I quickly tune out him grumbling to Disha about exactly where Seashell can stick a loaf of bread. Funny. I didn't know he even knew words like that.

Sneak and Sparky look around in confusion, and the expressions on their faces paired with the ridiculous relief I'm feeling is just making my head spin. I start to giggle. Not just laugh, or chuckle. I'm giggling like a six-year-old girl.

Everybody looks at me like I'm totally insane, and that only makes me laugh even harder.

"You should- should- see your f-faces." I gasp.

Disha's begun cussing us all out fantastically, Audio's shouting something in that strange slang of his that doesn't seem to mesh quite right with his intelligence, I'm rolling on the ground with laughter, and everybody just breaks down.

Flute and Jiminy sit down abruptly, mouths working silently before they begin to snort with laughter. Rocky groans, rolls over and declares, "I'm going back to bed!" but it's not too long until he's laughing too. I don't know what Narcis is doing, but he's probably glaring at us from off in some dark corner. Drai is saying, "This doesn't make sense!" over and over again. And he's right. It makes no sense at all. Oh well. That's life for you.

Eventually all of us, even Seashell and Red, are on the ground laughing till we cry. And the strangest thing is that if you asked us why we were laughing, I don't think one of us would have an answer.

****

There are no faces this night. For once we're all in the middle of our camp, not lining the edges in our attempts to stay as far away as possible from the people we don't like. Not that we're all snuggling up and drinking hot cocoa either, but it's better than it was.

We listen as the last strains of the anthem resonate hollowly and then fade. It's a very beautiful song. I hate it so much it makes my stomach churn.

"Reb?" Flute whispers.

"Yeah?" I reply.

"What are we going to do? About the food?" She's only thirteen. I'm only eighteen. We shouldn't have to worry about starving to death. The sad thing is that even outside this arena there are kids for whom starving to death is a very real possibility.

"I dunno. Do our best, I guess. What will be will be, y'know?" I say sleepily. She doesn't seem satisfied but she nods and rolls over.

"It'll be." I mutter to myself. I feel strange passing down Aror's wisdom to these kids that I want so desperately to save. All of them, one of them, somehow I'm going to save a child. I'm sure I would have died if I'd been fighting under anyone but Aror. I wasn't always the most sensible freedom fighter. Or the best shot. But I had "spunk" as Aror put it, and he took a shine to me.

I feel sort of silly now, for saying the things that I did earlier. But I don't regret it. Aror was my mentor; he's the person I model myself after. He's the person I'm trying to become for these children.

But what if I'm wrong?

The familiar fear wells up in my stomach. What if I'm wrong and they don't let us free? What if I lead these kids to their deaths? I can't let that happen, I can't, I can't. My hearts beats faster and faster.

_There's no way this will work!_ My mind screams at me. I hate this. That I can't be sure if I'm going to hurt all these poor kids. I won't be able to live with it if I do. But every day it looks more and more like the Capitol was serious when they sent us in here. What have I done? A tear rolls down my cheek.

"Wrianin?" Flute whispers. These aren't the tears of fond memories like earlier today. They're not the tears of laughter I was crying when I was rolling around on the forest floor. These are tears of having this incredible fear hanging over my head and being able to do nothing about it.

"I'm fine," I mutter gruffly, "Go back to sleep."

Sneak takes my hand and closes her eyes. She trusts me. This has to work. This will work. I am going to make this work. _It'll be. And it'll be alright_.

And with those words to myself, I fall asleep.

_Day twenty-three._

**Surviving Contestants**

District 1: None

District 2: Fenn Zete (Fen Zet)

Flute French (I don't _really_ need to explain this one, right?)

District 3: Audio Lome (Aw-dee-oh Loam)

To Liscan (Toe Liss-can)

District 4: Disha Lawrence (Disha Lore-ence)

District 5: None

District 6: Wrianin Abro (Ree-anne-in Ah-bro)

District 7: None

District 8: Jiminy Frank (Jim-in-ee Fraynk)

District 9: Rhiattany Hurli (Ree-uh-taw-nee Hurley)

Distict 10: Narcis Aramis (Nawr-siss Air-uh-miss)

District 11: Drai Brister (Dray Brisster)

Distict 12: Eulkichu Dambis (Ul-kitch-oo Dam-biss)


	13. Breaking Point

**A/N**- I have to apologize for this VERY late update. I have been so busy lately, I have literally come home, ate dinner, and gone to bed every day this week. I did nothing else, period. But now I'm on Spring Break, so I should have a ton of time to write and update. Can I get a "BOOYAH!"? Even if I can't, a big thanks to my readers. You guys are amazing! Happy Easter everybody!

**Chapter Thirteen**

**Narcis Aramis, District 10**

I can't believe this. We've been waiting for breakfast for almost half an hour, and the Three Musketeers have been puttering around and dodging our questions all morning. What is their problem?

They've called us in for a meeting now, to a symphony of growling stomachs. French's eyebrows are knotted together. Frank paces in the background, and Abro's hand s are clenched tensely. Whatever they have to tell us, it isn't good. Disha and I sit down, whispering unhappily. What bomb are they going to drop now? That we're all going vegetarian so we don't ever have to kill anything ever again? Wouldn't surprise me if that were it. Flute drifts from Abro' s side and sits down with everyone else unhappily. Frank strides behind everyone and crosses his arms, staring at Abro over our heads. The last of us get comfortable and stop shifting, waiting for Abro to start.

Lome coughs, either genuinely or to fill the stretching silence.

Abro takes it as a prompt to start and clears his throat. "I've got some bad news, guys."

He hesitates.

"Yeah?" Lome ventures after a moment.

"Don't rush me, kid. Well, you guys know we've been low on food, right?" He asks.

Zete's stomach rumbles right on time. Snorts of laughter from some of the others. Disha rolls her eyes at the exact same time as I do. Exactly why I love that girl; we understand each other. Abro waves his hands to calm everybody down and then begins again, hesitantly.

"Well, it's gotten worse. We're out. Of food, that is. We all need to work hard to gather more food and cut back on the amount we eat." He's rushing through his sentences now.

He babbles for a while longer through the stunned silence. We're _out_? We're going to starve! I can't believe they chose not to share the fact that we were running out of food with us. It's flat out betrayal. Not that I trusted any of them all that much, but I thought they were enough of a bunch of do-gooders to not do something like this.

"How- how couldja not tell us?" Stammers Audio. He might be one of their minor cronies, but he's still pretty intelligent.

"We thought we might be able to find a food source, and in the meantime we didn't want you all to worry."

"Didn't want us to worry?! Don't you know where we are?!" Exclaims Fenn. He's usually really quiet, so this sort of outburst is enough of a bad sign to make Abro wince.

"I didn't want to make things worse. Please listen to me, I-"

"You what?" I snap, "You going to tell me your mother was a monkey and you grew up on Mars? Because at this point I'd probably believe anything anybody told me about you."

"No! I was trying to protect you guys. I was trying-"

French screamed.

Brister had been silent up to this point, and now he'd exploded. He'd grabbed Flute French around her shoulders, pinning her arms to her side. He pressed his knife against her throat.

"Alright, now you listen to me. I am not going to stand here and be lied to. If I can't trust you, then I am out of here. Now. Give me a sleeping bag, any food you guys are hoarding for yourselves, and all the weapons you've got. If I think you're holding out on me, she dies. You try to attack me, and she dies."

We're all speechless. Even Disha and I wouldn't dream of hurting any of these people. Make fun of them, call them names, sure. But this is…just scary.

Wrianin is working hard to keep himself calm, for Flute's sake. "Okay," he says soothingly, "L et's talk for a minute, Drai. Let her go, and I'll give you your sleeping bag. And then you can go."

"No! I told you! I want everything you've got!" He presses his knife harder against Flute's throat and she gasps in pain or fear or both.

He spins angrily for a moment. Then he sneers back at Wrianin. "No. I know you've got food somewhere. You wouldn't have put this off if it wasn't to your advantage. I want food! Give it to me! Now!"

I can see that Wrianin's desperate; he hasn't got any food. And without said non-existent food his friend is going to die.

"Please, you have to believe me! I don't have any-"

"You've got five seconds to give it to me or she dies. One. Two. Three. Fou-"

All of a sudden his words stop in a crackly moan. He's staring blankly, like he can't even see what's in front of him. We're all frozen by suspense. And then he tips over, and Jiminy's knife pulls out of his back.

His weight drags terrified French to the ground, and she rolls away, whining in terror. She scrambles to her feet and buries her face in Frank's side, sobbing. He's just staring at Drai's body, the blood from his knife dripping slowly onto his pants and shoes.

There's a silence lying heavy on the clearing. Slowly, people begin to turn one by one to look away from the corpse and at Jiminy. In fear and disbelief, everyone is silent. He swallows hard and pushes French away gently. She dashes over to Abro to cry on him instead. Frank moves slowly toward Brister's body. He kneels and rolls the open-eyed boy onto his back. Ever so slowly he close Drai's eyes. He arranges his arms and legs quietly. He straightens the District 11 boy's uniform and smoothes his greasy hair as best as he can. Then he stands up. "Come on." He says softly. He silently walks to his backpack, picks up his blanket, and walks off. We follow his lead wordlessly. As Disha and I fall into step, she grasps my hand and I squeeze hers comfortingly. She's scared, I can tell. This may be the first time we have seen, so clearly and brutally, what this Game is really all about. 

_Day twenty-five._

**Jiminy Frank, District 8**

I keep trying to convince myself that what I did was okay. He was going to kill Flute. But now _he's_ dead instead. Is that a decision that I can rightfully make? Is it up to me to decide whose life is worth more? Wait, yes? I mean, he was going to hurt her and she didn't do anything. So it's okay, right? Right? But then again, he was trying to protect himself. He didn't really want to hurt her, he just thought we were trying to starve him to death, so that means that it wasn't right for me to kill him, doesn't it?

I've been running these circles inside my head since yesterday morning. No matter what argument I come up with, there's always one for the other side of the argument. My mind spirals dizzily, like I'm falling inside of my own head.

Outwardly, I've been doing my best to stay blank. I don't want to scare Flute. She's gone through enough in the last two days; she doesn't need to know I'm this close to becoming a total head case.

She's asleep right now, lying with her back pressed against mine. The anthem's come and gone, blank, without any new victims. Our little alliance of eigh- seven is mostly asleep for the night. With the exception of me and Reb, who's on guard duty.

I roll over again, in agony. I bet you all think that I did the right thing, that I shouldn't feel guilty. But is it wrong to kill to avoid someone being killed? I think so. So why did I do it? I guess it's because, no matter how good humans are when they're happy and satisfied, they always choose what they want when it comes right down to it. Flute is my friend. She was whom I wanted to live. So I killed a person. Because I'm no better than the rest of humanity, I guess. We're animals, which is why this Hunger Games thing is even possible.

A moan escapes my lips and Reb turns his head toward me just a tiny bit.

"What's eating you, Sparky?" He says, hushed.

"Drai." I grunt. He's silent. At first I think he's gone back to keeping watch, but then he begins slowly.

"Look, Jiminy, I can't make you feel better about this. I don't think I'm even going to try. Maybe I will, but I'm not really the best at nurturing-type speeches. A call to battle, sure. But touchy-feely's just not my style. So I'm going to give it to you like a soldier, got it?"

"Sure." I whisper.

"First off, it's done and done. Not much you can do that'll help now, unless you happen to have a time machine in your backpack. So no matter how much you beat yourself up over it, it's not doing anyone any good. Except maybe his family; they probably agree that you should be beating yourself up.

"And yes, it's horrible that his family and friends lost him. But we almost lost one of our friends. Flute's family almost lost her. Somebody had to die, and at best it could be the aggressor.

"Now, another thing you're probably asking yourself is, 'Why should Sneak live just because she's my friend? What makes her more valuable?' Well, why should she die just because she's your friend? It's fine to be selfless, but not when somebody has to die so that you can live guilt-free. So don't ask why she deserved to be the one to survive, ask yourself why she didn't. Now, any more questions?"

I'd never thought about it like that. I guess it's right. I mean, I can't really forgive myself on the premises of, "Hey, why not, right?" but it may help to think of it like that I suppose.

"No. And that really didn't help much. But thanks. It's nice to know that somebody doesn't blame me." I murmur sullenly.

"Buck up, Sparky. You cared enough about her to kill for her, so live for her too."

"Yeah. I will." 

_Day twenty-six._

_Day twenty-seven._

**To Liscan, District 3**

Three days after the most recent face was shown during the anthem, I've come across a place that waw obviously a camp very recently. The embers of the fire are cold, but not yet dampened by rain, so it was made since this morning. I walk in a slow circle, gently touching each indent in the grass where a child slept.

There's quite a few of them. There are three big shapes that seem to hold two or three people each. They tend to run together, so it's hard to tell how many exactly.

I must admit it's a good strategy, to sleep in groups. Can't kill one without risking waking up the others. Then they scream and all their buddies wake up and you're through. But it's not worth risking having allies; either you'll die or they will, in the end. If you can't accept realities like that then you're not going to live.

I find the area where it appears they left. The plants are pretty trampled over in this spot. They aren't very good at not leaving tracks. Or maybe they're not even trying. Maybe there's enough of them that they're confident they don't need to be careful. It wouldn't surprise me. All of those indentations implied a group of six to nine people. That's enough so that no one person could take them on easily. Maybe I could, if I could pick them off from a tree.

Maybe I should follow them. I could probably do it. Get ahead of them, wait up in a tree, take out a few of them before they know what's happened, then finish them off as they try to get at me. But then again, if they've got long-range weapons that they can use then I'd be in trouble. It might just be better to wait.

But that doesn't mean I need to waste this opportunity completely. I can follow this trail, scope them out a bit. I'll be careful, so it can't hurt. Besides, I'm smarter than they are. That's all that really matters.

And that's what's going to get me home. It's too bad that they have to die, really. But I'm going to earn it; I'm smart and strong. It's survival of the fittest, and only one can win. I plan on being fittest.

I step silently through a gap in the foliage. While they may charge through the forest like a bunch of elephants, I certainly don't have to. Survival of the fittest, or the smartest.

**Surviving Contestants**

District 1: None

District 2: Fenn Zete (Fen Zet)

Flute French (I don't _really_ need to explain this one, right?)

District 3: Audio Lome (Aw-dee-oh Loam)

To Liscan (Toe Liss-can)

District 4: Disha Lawrence (Disha Lore-ence)

District 5: None

District 6: Wrianin Abro (Ree-anne-in Ah-bro)

District 7: None

District 8: Jiminy Frank (Jim-in-ee Fraynk)

District 9: Rhiattany Hurli (Ree-uh-taw-nee Hurley)

Distict 10: Narcis Aramis (Nawr-siss Air-uh-miss)

District 11: None

Distict 12: Eulkichu Dambis (Ul-kitch-oo Dam-biss)


	14. Death Doll

**A/N**- Just to warn you, there's one censored swear word in this chapter. By the way, did anyone notice that The Hunger Games has more than 1,000 stories on here now? Wow.

In more important news, you may have heard of LoveTheBoyWithTheBread's Hunger Games story The Truth. Well, she recently got an offer to get it translated into RUSSIAN. Wow! Maybe you guys should check it out when you're done reading and leaving a review, hmm?

**Chapter Fourteen**

**To Liscan, District 3**

I saw them. Last night when they were all asleep. I almost went in a killed them then, but I could have sworn that Abro was looking right at me. Of course, he couldn't see me in the dark, through the trees, but I could see him clearly. He was staring into the woods, straight at where I was creeping into the clearing. I caught his eye, but he didn't catch mine. It was a strange feeling, making one-sided eye contact. The whole thing left me so disconcerted that I left them alone and just went to sleep in a tree. They woke me up when they set out.

Now I'm crouched in their camp from last night. They have lots of matches it looks like. They had plenty to start a fire, anyway. One of them, the cranky girl, recognized some sort of plant as well. She said it was mostly used as bait, but humans could eat it as well. They'd fallen on it like those wolves Eulkichu and I killed off. They didn't leave any for me. Or for the person who's following me.

You see, for a while now somebody has been trailing me. They're good, real good. But even they have made mistakes. There have been small snaps of twigs when we ran, a single footprint when I doubled back. I've been careful not to let them know I know. I don't want to give them any advantage.

I push my hand through my hair. I wrinkle my nose. My hair may look like a boy's, but I'm still a girl and I hate having nasty greasy hair. Oh well. Not too much I can do about it right now.

I turn to observe the path they took out of the clearing and come face to face with Rhiattany Hurli.

For a split second we stare at each other, dumbfounded. In that time my mind had only enough time to process that she must have been the one who was following me. Then she gasps, turns, and sprints off. I explode after her, going faster than I ever have, as far as I know.

Rhiattany cuts a tight corner around a tree. I rocket around the curve and my feet fly out from under me as I slip on a patch of mud. I swear loudly and leap back to my feet, wiping mud onto my already muddy pants. I sprint after her again. I will not lose her. This ends today. Now.

Rhiattany jumps over a fallen log and I follow. I'm closing the distance between us. My legs are much longer than hers. It's really too bad that this has to happen to her, to all of them. But it needs to if anybody ever wants to see home again. Abro said that the Capitol was sure to free us if we refused to fight. He's wrong. If they take us out of this arena it'll be to execute us.

I leap onto a large rock, pull out my bow, and fire.

Rhiattany screeches in pain, hits the ground, and falls out of my view behind a bush.

I stand still for a moment, my bow still at the ready. There's no sound. I didn't see where my arrow hit her, but it was a killing shot. I climb down from my rock and walk slowly to where she disappeared below behind the bush. It's almost impossible to process, this idea that I've finally killed my worst enemy.

I stand over the body, searching for the point of entry of my arrow. I lean over, looking harder. And then I feel a sharp pain in my stomach.

I gasp and blood spills out of my mouth, on to Rhiattany's now upturned face. I can't move, caught by her blue-gray eyes. So…she wasn't dead. She faked being hit. Of course. It makes sense now. It seemed too sloppy for my careful tail to be so easily revealed. And now she's won. But she doesn't look like she's won. Her eyes hold only stony justice. She thinks she's doing the right thing.

My knees crumble out from under me, and grasp at the arrow she's plunged into my stomach. It's not the one I just shot, I realize. That's lodged in a tree way back. This must be the one I used to shoot her in the shoulder when we first met. I see the poetic justice.

I fall on my side. I can't do anything about my death. If I tried to kill Rhiattany I would only be committing murder. It wouldn't be self-defense anymore, since I have no chance any more

"Good j-job." I gasp at her, "You did…it. You outsmarted me. Didn't…think that wa-a-s possible."

"No I didn't, To. You're too smart. Nobody could ever outsmart you. I outstupided you. I let you catch me."

I hold my stomach, as blood mats my shirt. "I don't think so. You're a sma- a sma- smart kid. You deserve to…win."

She knits her eyebrows together and frowns. She doesn't know what to make of this.

"Sit me up, would you. Don't want to-to die on the ground." I grunt. She obeys silently, and I use every last ounce of my strength to prop up my neck as another wave of blood pours out between my lips. My head swims. I've lost too much blood.

I take my best guess and try to look straight into the cameras. "See you in H***, president." I growl. I grab the arrow and plunge it deeper into my stomach, speeding the end.

**Rhiattany Hurli, District 9**

How strange.

Her corpse reposes on the tree, looking casual except for the telltale signs of death. She'd look like she was just sitting back; enjoying the sunshine; if it weren't for the arrow in her stomach, the emptiness of her open eyes, the blood all over the grass and her face and body.

I remove the arrow from her stomach carefully. I don't want her to fall over. I pull the quiver off her back and lean her back against the tree again. I take the canteen that she used to bring water to Pippa Fawn. I pull the other arrow from the tree and walk off without a second glance.

So I didn't finish off To Liscan in the end. Well, maybe I did. I didn't directly strike the killing blow, but she wouldn't have killed herself if it wasn't for me. She only did it because I'd stabbed her and she didn't want to suffer.

I shoulder the canteen strap and wander through the woods with my thoughts. As much as I hated To Liscan, killing her was unsettling. My plan had worked perfectly. Let her think I'm dead, then kill her off when she approaches. I had to do it. She was after that big group; if she'd caught up to them it would have been a massacre. Actually, maybe I should go find them. Maybe they'd want to take me in. But no. There's blood on my hands now. I don't belong with them.

It still bothers me that she said I deserve to win. She was the hunter. I guess all hunters respect their prey, especially when it "outstupids" them.

It's strange. I have been totally focused on destroying the enemy for a long time now. Now that that's been accomplished, I have no idea what to do with myself. And now that I'm done, the little things that didn't bother me when I was focused are making a powerful resurgence as things I need to think about. Like how I'm hungry, and how my feet hurt from walking for weeks on end. If I gain anything good form this, it'll be tough feet.

After an hour of aimless ambling (sort of a brief celebratory vacation from worrying about survival after achieving the defeat of To Liscan) I decide I need to get back on task. For that I kind of need to decide on a task. Okay. What do I need here the most at the moment? I have To's mostly full canteen; I'm good on water. I have her bow and arrow; I can check off weapons. I don't have food. There we go. There's my new objective. Find some food. And I have the perfect way to get it. All I need to do is find my way back to my apple tree. The problem is that I've got no idea where I am; I've gotten so turned around from following To. I guess I need to find a good landmark and work my way from there. But the problem is I don't know where to find any landmarks. Well. This could be a problem.

I set out again with renewed determination. I guess I just feel the need to have a real purpose after dedicating so much of my energy to following To.

To. Everything keeps coming back to her, the monster I hate…Hate? Hated? It feels wrong to hate her now that I've killed her. But she killed other people, so I don't see why it should. She never seemed sorry for the people that she killed. Or maybe she was, and I was just blind.

I mentally slap myself in the face. I can't feel sorry for her. She doesn't deserve it and I can't afford her the attention right now. If I get out I'll have plenty of time to think about To Liscan, and if I don't then it's not going to matter anyway.

I'm starting to get a little frustrated. But not in a bad way. I guess reality's still on hold after achieving my one real goal. I wonder how long this strange effect is going to last. Not too long I hope. I don't particularly like it. I feel kind of off my game. That could be dangerous. There are still contenders left in this Game. I rack my brain trying to remember. Let's see…Six or seven assorted kids in that pack To was hunting. Eulkichu, that boy that disappeared on her when they fought the wolves, is still around. And then there's me. Is that everyone? I think so. But I could be wrong. Who knows, maybe the group even had a run in with Eulkichu, and somebody or some people bit the dust. I guess I'll just have to wait until tonight to find out.

I try to figure out how long it'll take me to find a suitable landmark. It takes almost two days to cross the entire arena on foot. I'll probably have to double back a couple times to cover more ground. I give up on calculations. I don't even know what the heck I'm looking for. It's officially useless. I sigh. Oh well. Just keep trucking, Rhiattany, and hope you get lucky.

**Eulkichu Dambis, District 12**

I couldn't believe it when I saw it. To Liscan's body was sitting there, propped up against a tree. There was blood all around her. There was a ton of it on the grass, so it would be my guess she died slowly. She had plenty of time to bleed all over her surroundings. There's also a rather nasty-looking wound in her stomach, so that was clearly the source of her bleeding out. There was blood on her face, so she must have been coughing it up. That couldn't have been a pretty sight.

I squat and look closer, morbidly fascinated. There's something not really beautiful but definitely entrancing about a dead human body. It's like a beautifully crafted life-sized doll, if you can get over the fact that it's really a person. And get over the blood.

Maybe I should feel sorry for her, but I feel so removed from it. Like I'm some alien scientist studying this strange new animal. I slowly reach out and take her hand. It's still slightly warm, but it's already going stiff. It's a strange union between life and death.

I close her hand in both of mine. It's bloody; she must have used it to hold her wound.

I bite my lip in indecision. And I make a very strange choice.

I pick up her lifeless body with a grunt. This girl deserves more than a Capitol-orchestrated death. I can't leave the body here or a hovercraft will pick her up. Actually, it was a huge coincidence that I got here before a cleanup crew did. Her killer must have got out of sight literally as soon as I got close enough to her to see her.

I grope clumsily for my compass. Probably should have gotten that out before hand. I head roughly west from where I am now, toward the stream. I can go back there now that To's dead. Of course, I'd already been back there for a while now, but after today I could stay there without fear that she'd come rushing back to trap me in my hideout and push me off the ledge. That would be a really bad way to die.

It's a long walk back, several hours at the least. It doesn't help that I'm carrying a corpse. I don't even know how long it'll take for her to start to smell. Thankfully, my mission will be pretty easy to complete.

It's about two in the afternoon when I reach the stream (it was about 6:30 in the morning when I found her body.) I gently put down the now very stiff corpse. I pull off my vest with its many knives. I take off the green shirt underneath and shake it out. I kneel by the riverbank, keeping a close eye on her body so a hovercraft doesn't come to take her away. I plunge the shirt under the cold water, hold it there for a moment, then pull it back out.

I cross to To's body and gently begin wiping the blood off of her. I wash her face first, even smoothing her hair gently when I'm done. Then I towel off her hands, especially the bloody one I held when I first found her body. I pad at her clothing half-heartedly. The blood has dried into her shirt; I don't think it will ever come out. I give up on her clothes and move to her stomach wound. It's pretty gruesome, but as I work it becomes a little easier to see. Her stomach is still shredded in that part of her torso. I can't bring myself to move her skin back into place, but I carefully arrange her torn shirt to cover the wound. I straighten the rest of her uniform. I retie her shoes.

I look at her eyes. They're almost the same shade of brown as her hair. She died with her eyes open, staring at her knees. I reach out my hand to perform the final duty of caring for and respecting the dead. I gently close her eyes.

Now she truly looks like a doll. She's clean and peaceful. If I don't look at her bloody clothes I could almost allow myself to forget she's dead. Actually, there's a sort of beauty to her now. She's silent, clean, and still. She looks like she has a kind of peace that the arena will never offer survivors. I mean, I can't imagine ever being able to move past something like this. If you can, then there's something very wrong with you.

I rock back on my heels and soak in the serenity. Even though my partner is dead, it's strangely soothing to be with another human without having them want to kill you brutally.

I know that it's strange and selfish to keep To with me any longer. She has a family back home somewhere who is waiting for her body so they can grieve and begin to heal. But then again, maybe they're grateful that I've given her some dignity and respect here, in a way I doubt that the Capitol undertakers will. To them she's just another job, albeit one known across the nation. I didn't have to do what I did, so maybe it'll mean more to them. Maybe they'll be more comforted by the fact that I took care of her out of pure human compassion.

But did I really?

I have a growing feeling that what I did wasn't for To, but for me. I've been in here a long time, fighting everyone I've met. I've never really wanted to fight or kill, but I made myself do whatever I could to win a fight. Maybe I needed to be with someone, even if it was To's body. Maybe this was therapy for me. Or maybe that wasn't even it. Maybe I was trying to prove I was a good person, no matter how many people would need to die for me to see home. Maybe I was trying to earn forgiveness for the people or person I would inevitably need to kill. Maybe I was compensating, trying to do some good to balance the wrong.

No matter why I had done this very strange thing, it was time to let To go. She deserved to rest. I smoothed my doll's hair again and put a hand over hers for the last time. In life, To was an enemy but in death she's become a friend.

I step back, then turn and walk to the other side of the river, clambering through the icy cold water.

I climb up onto the other side of the river. "Go ahead, I'm done now." I call to the sky. A hovercraft appears over the horizon, humming softly. It's strange. It's like some benevolent forest matron, puttering around her business. But it's really a Capitol vehicle sent to retrieve dead bodies. I shake my head to myself. It doesn't make the least amount of sense but it's true.

I watch silently as a claw lowers down and clasps To's body. It begins to lift her up into its body. I shield my eyes with my hand so I can follow her ascent as she is lifted into the sun.

Again I'm struck by how…not murdered she looks. Now she looks smaller than a doll. She looks like a very small child, just past babyhood, being lifted into a crib. I hope that's how it feels. I hope death is a relief for her and everyone else who's suffered these Hunger Games. More than anything I hope that Grandma was right about there being a Heaven, or something, after death. I don't know if I'd be able to stand this if I didn't have that idea to clutch to. I think the idea that these people would just be gone is beyond agonizing. That just can't be right. That's what my Grandma used to say as well. Whenever someone would ask my Grandma how she could retain her faith in the face of tragedy she'd look at them and rumble, "How could I not? It's the only thing that keeps me from drowning in this. Without the idea that everybody who deserves it has gone on to their reward I don't know how I would handle this."

That was always her philosophy. I think it applies here too.

To's body is drawn the rest of the way into the hovercraft. The doors in the bottom close and it winks out of the visible spectrum, taking my 'friend' with it. I lower my hand and go slowly off to think. I'm going to need to do a lot of that to make sense of this, or at least to be able to function with the memories swirling around in my head. I'll never escape them, so I need to make sense of them. I swing into my little cave and hope to do just that.

I pull my knees up to my chest and grind my chin into them really hard in an attempt to ground myself. I need to think…to think this through. Don't I? I mean, I can't go through the rest of this Game obsessing about some dead girl who almost killed me a while back. No way. That's not going to work. So I need to get through all the emotions attached to that very strange scene.

I roll over, leaving my back toward the entrance. Not the best defensive position, but only To saw me at the stream. I don't think anyone could stumble on this place by accident. It took me about a half an hour of exploring the chasm to find my little cave; I was trying to see how far the gorge stretched in case I ever needed to push someone into it. The answer? Almost as far as this stream.

I pick up my vest and cover my eyes with it; my shirt is drying out in the sun on the ledge. I close my eyes and try to drift off. Dreams are so much simpler than real life. In a dream, everything makes sense, even if it seems totally ridiculous once you wake up. Dreams don't have any consequences, either. Nightmares may be awful, but they aren't real. Once you wake up, it's over and you're okay again. Yes, dreams are a much better place to puzzle this out.

It takes a while but I drift into dreamland and get the answers I'm looking for.

****

There's no sound in my dream. That's really the oddest thing about it. To's there, but she looks perfectly normal. She looks the way she did after I washed her, which I decide is a good sign. It must be the way she should be, cared for and clean. I did the right thing then, when I cleaned her.

She's up in a tree with one leg draping casually over the branch. I try to figure out the significance of the tree. Well…she's up high. Maybe my dream's trying to tell me she's up in the afterlife after all? Maybe. I move on to another part of the dream.

To talks with her hands a lot. I don't know if that's something she did in real life, or a detail my dream made up. Either way she looks very alive and happy. So she must be better off wherever she is.

To is smiling at me and chatting happily so we must be good friends in my dream. I guess that means she's glad for what I did for her, right? It must have been the right thing. Or maybe I was meant to grow up and get married to To, but then we ended up fighting each other in this arena and our destiny together was shattered. But no, I'm pretty sure that's over-thinking it just a tad.

It's sunny and light wherever we are. The trees aren't like the kind we see in the arena, so we must be free, wherever we are. The dream slowly fades into a golden glow, and I wake up gently. My subconscious had given me exactly the kind of dream I'd needed. And I was right to do what I did. I was sure my dream was trying to tell me that.

I sleepily cradle my hands on my arms, a faint smile on my face. Call me an eternal optimist, but I just feel so much better now. That dream was the perfect reprieve. I was slowly shriveling to death in this arena. I know that for sure. This has bolstered me. Nothing's really changed, but I feel like I've been given a fresh start. I'm so grateful, even if it's just an illusion. Maybe we can all live on dreams and illusions, if only for a little while. It'd be nice to just go off into my own little fantasy world and give up. But that can't be the right choice. I have to keep going, right? Or that's it.

The sleepy happy feeling is fading with that realization. It was nice while it lasted, but it's over now. Back to reality. Back to the Hunger Games.

**Surviving Contestants**

District 1: None

District 2: Fenn Zete (Fen Zet)

Flute French (I don't _really_ need to explain this one, right?)

District 3: Audio Lome (Aw-dee-oh Loam)

District 4: Disha Lawrence (Disha Lore-ence)

District 5: None

District 6: Wrianin Abro (Ree-anne-in Ah-bro)

District 7: None

District 8: Jiminy Frank (Jim-in-ee Fraynk)

District 9: Rhiattany Hurli (Ree-uh-taw-nee Hurley)

Distict 10: Narcis Aramis (Nawr-siss Air-uh-miss)

District 11: None

Distict 12: Eulkichu Dambis (Ul-kitch-oo Dam-biss)


	15. Interlude

**A/N**- To establish time context, these were filmed directly after To's death, and aired on television very shortly after To's body was taken away by hovercraft. These are, of course, the Final Eight interviews.

**Final Eight**

**Amie French: Mother of Flute French, District 2 Female**

Tsepelia Climian had interviewed the children. She didn't see why she shouldn't just perform the "final eight" interviews as well. But no. They'd just had to give the job to those two preppy little newscasters. Tsepelia knew she could do better. But the orders had come from Azin Hellwick herself. Nobody argued with the president.

So now she was introducing the clips. Really, the Capitol had put a lot into them. They'd not only sought out the best candidates for each child, they brought them all to the Capitol to be interviewed. Tsepelia was sure that the interview room was the most luxurious place any of the interviewees had ever been.

"T minus thirty seconds!" came the call.

_Put on your happy face, Tsepelia_, the woman chided herself. She centered herself, and the On Air light turned green.

Tsepelia smiled serenely at the cameras. Ouch, her cheeks hurt. She always had to smile. She'd lose her job if she didn't.

"Three," two fingers, one finger, then the cameraman pointed.

"Good morning Panem!" Tsepelia crooned. Now that we have only one third of our contestants remaining, we will interview close friends and family of the remaining children. First we have an excerpt of the interview with Flute French's mother, Amie French.

The clip cut to Erasziel Toonce sitting with a drawn-looking woman. The woman's pale hair was drawn into a thin ponytail. The woman herself had a sick, terse air to her. Her mannerisms contrasted sharply with Sazi's pep and smiles. Amie's long, bony fingers twisted in her lap with nervous energy.

"Mrs. French, would you tell us a little about your daughter?" Sazi said, leaning forward in anticipation.

The tall, thin woman swallowed hard and blinked several times. "She- she- she's being very brave. I don't know how she does it. She's so…" She strangled to a stop with tears leaking out of her eyes.

Sazi blinked in surprise as the woman sobbed once and wrestled herself under control.

"She's being stronger than I ever have had to be. She's an inspiration to everyone who knows her. We're all just waiting for her to come back. We- we need her to come back." Amie's voice began to take on a desperate edge.

Sazi chuckled uncomfortably. "Well, she certainly has a chance. She's doing very well in the polls. Lots of people are sure she's going to be the one to win."

Amie blinked and didn't respond.

"Especially when you consider her young she is! Do you think that will be a problem for her."

"Well, I suppose. She's the second youngest, right? A lot of people probably think that she's not strong enough to come home. But they're wrong." Mrs. French said with sudden violence.

"I'm sure! If she wasn't a strong young woman she wouldn't have made it this far. How are things at home?"

Amie's eyes took on a faraway look. "Flute does a good job in school. Her brothers look up to her for that. They're twins. She fights with them a lot, but they always seem to end up cuddled in one bed at least once a week. Everything's been perfect. It's always been perfect." She murmured.

**Ashell Van Arthur; Classmate of Fenn Zete, District 2 Male**

Tennem Flore had adopted a conspiratorial stance. He looked eager for some juicy gossip from the nervous young girl across from him. His interviewee was in her early or middle teens, with dark hair that her mother had painstakingly styled for her forced appearance on national television. Her dress was a pale red color, twisted in her hands.

"Now, I believe you're the special young lady the Fenn Zete spoke about a while back."

"I…suppose so." She mumbled, looking away from the cameras.

"How long have you known Mr. Zete?" He coaxed.

"We've been in school together for as long as I can remember."

Tennem hid his growing frustration well. "What can you tell us about your relationship with him?"

"We were in class together for a long time. District 2 classes stay together as they get older. We were both pretty quiet so we ended up working together on projects a lot. He was nice…and quiet. He always seemed so…" She trailed off.

"Did you two know each other well?" Tennem prompted.

"Umm…Not really. But I always liked him a…lot."

Tennem sighed in his head. They'd been so proud when they'd figured out which girl was Zete's little girlfriend. Honestly. This was impossible! It was going to be a very long interview.

**Kayla Lome; Sister of Audio Lome, District 3 Male**

The girl crossed her arms, exuding hostility. Sazi did her best not grimace. And Tennem was complaining about _his_ interviewees! She turned to the young woman.

"So Audio is your younger brother, correct?" Sazi began.

"Yeah." She said shortly.

"And how old are you now?" Sazi continued.

"I turned eighteen last week. My little brother should have been here to celebrate with me. But he wasn't." Kayla spat.

"Oh. Uh…" Sazi shifted her feet, trying to think of some way to save this interview, but it might be too far-gone.

"There was a real upset this morning when Rhiattany Hurli defeated Audio's District partner To. What did you think about that?"

"I hope he gets back here, and that's what's going to need to happen if he's going to. There's going to be a lot more killing and death and eventually his friends will have to die as well. He should just kill his poor allies and get back. He should just get it over with. And so should you. We're done here." She stood up, turned on her heel, and marched out. Sazi raised an eyebrow at the cameras.

"Too bad he doesn't have that kind of fire in him!" She improvised, covering how out of hand the interview had gotten, "He'd be home in two days tops!"

**Efti Mordowk; Friend of Disha Lawrence**

The girl looked blankly over Tennem's shoulder. The audience couldn't feel the tension in the room. They couldn't tell how hard the girl was working to remain totally stoic. For Disha, she could do it. Efti would pay her friend the tribute she deserved.

"We're here now with a close friend of Disha Lawrence named Efti Mordowk. Now, how do you know Disha, Efti?"

"We've been best friends for a long time. I think I was six when I met her at swimming lessons. She had a bad attitude even back then. She was throwing a fit about her swimsuit. She said it was too tight. I think it was a cousin's hand-me-down.

"She hasn't changed much over the years. Actually, I take that back. She's changed a lot, just not the really important stuff. The things that make her who she is. Of course, she hasn't been able to be herself in the arena. Disha wouldn't be able to deal with this if she tried to be herself, I think. She's not really the tough type. Sarcastic, yes. Grumpy, of course. I can tell you that from personal experience. But she's not a fighter. I'm surprised that she's still alive. And grateful. "

Tennem was pleasantly shocked at how this girl was talking. His first interview had been such a dud. That girl was certainly stingy with her gossip. He couldn't tell what that Zete boy saw in her. Tennem liked outgoing women himself.

"Do you think she's got a chance now?"

"Yes. Definitely. Disha's been doing amazingly well. She's stronger than any of us ever even imagined. If she can be brave like that then she can do…what she has to…to get home."

"I'm sure she can. And I'm sure she'll have a wonderful place to come back to."

"Of course she will. Now that she's gone, I think people have really begun to realize how much she was a part of life. We're all waiting for her. Once she's back she'll never have to feel the way she has in these Games ever again. She'll never be without a friend or family. Ever."

**Glowha Abro; Mother of Wrianin Abro, District 6 Male**

The fat, cheerful woman's ruddy face was smiling genuinely at the cameras. She looked almost as happy as Sazi, who was glad this one didn't look like she was going to storm out in the middle of the interview. They'd dragged Kayla back in, but only gotten an interesting but useless stream of expletives.

"Mrs. Abro, tell us about your son." Sazi coaxed.

Glowha smiled gamely. "Of course! As my neighbors will tell you I'm always too ready to go on and on about my boy!" She chortled to herself. "I couldn't believe it when he was chosen! All of District 6, and it was my son who was picked! I went home and cried myself to sleep, I did. Then I saw how he was making friends and plans and I felt much better. I said to myself, I did, 'Now, Glowha! He's a big boy. Look at him; he can take care of himself, he can!'"

Sazi smiled. It was genuine, not her usual camera smile. She liked the boisterous, outgoing woman. "He's certainly been doing an excellent job of taking care of himself and his friends. What do you think of his allies?"

"Most of them seem like perfectly nice young people. But Narcis and Disha wouldn't get away with that sort of attitude in my home, they wouldn't! But those two boys, Fenn and Audio, seem like polite young men. Of course, they might act differently under different circumstances. Flute is very sweet. She's a good friend for my boy. And Jiminy looks like the kind of person Wrianin would befriend under normal circumstances. My boy's been lucky, he has. He's got a good bunch of friends."

"Do you think you'll be seeing him again, Glowha?"

"Of course! The rebellion toughened him quite a bit. He can adapt to the rigors of that arena. Besides, he's almost down to just his close group of friends anyway. They should be home soon."

"Do you think that their escape plan is going to work then?"

"Oh, I don't know. It makes sense to me, but then again, I don't like the premise of the Games in the first place. Even if it doesn't he's the toughest by far in his group. If he has to, he can defeat them. Not that he'd want to. If that happens he won't like it, poor boy. What about you, Erasaziel?"

Sazi blinked in surprise. "Umm, me? I don't know." Sazi wasn't accustomed to being asked questions. The Capitol people she usually interviewed were only too happy to go on and on about themselves.

"Come. I answered your questions, I did. It's your turn." Glowha insisted, patting Sazi's hand.

"Well, I suppose it mostly depends on the president. President Hellwick will make the final choice about when and if to end the Games."

"Azin Hellwick is in control?" Sighed Glowha, "Well, no promises then. She's done some vicious things in the past, she has."

"Well, there's also the time she allowed that group of expatriates to be sentenced to life in prison instead of execution. Perhaps she'll have another merciful streak."

"Maybe she will. But then again…"

The clips slowly faded to black. The rest of the review had turned into senseless gossip and friendly conversation, instead of relevant information.

**Delphimus Frank; Father of Jiminy Frank, District 8 Male**

The man sat uncomfortably. His back was ramrod straight. He had his son's mousy brown hair, but not his gray eyes. Incidentally, those came from his maternal grandmother.

"Good afternoon Mr. Frank." Tennem began formally.

"Is it?" Mr. Frank replied coolly.

"Of course it is." Tennem retorted loftily.

"I'm being interviewed as part of a reality show designed to kill twenty-three young adults and children, one of whom is my son. Would you explain how this is good, in any stretch of the imagination?"

Tennem did his best not to be annoyed at this man. Saying something like that in an interview could get Tennem in serious trouble. "Mr. Frank, if the Districts hadn't rebelled our president would not have thought that such measures were necessary. I'm sorry for your loss, but you can't act like it wasn't incited."

Delphimus Frank exploded. " For my _loss_?! My son is not _dead_, Mr. Flore. And he isn't going to. He _will_ come home. I will see my son again, no matter what an ignoramus like yourself might say."

Tennem looked at him, dumbstruck. "Did you just insult me?"

"Yes! I did, and you just proved my point!" Delphimus bellowed.

Mr. Frank was on his feet, pacing the interview room.

"Sit down." Tennem ordered.

"Don't you _dare_ order me around!" He snapped, "You people have done more than enough already! You've already taken my son away for your own amusement!"

"I thought you were convinced that Jiminy was going to be coming back."

Delphimus' mouth opened for a sharp retort, but he collapsed into the cushy interview chair, his head held in his hands, sobs racking his previously straight back.

Tennem looked silently at the struggling man in front of him. He held this man in an uncomfortable mix of pity and disgust. He decided to say nothing. He already had enough for an interview anyway.

**Burdock Remeous; Teacher of Rhiattany Hurli, District 9 Female**

The man had a pair of glasses perched low on his nose. His intelligent eyes had a look of patience. Anyone could tell he was a teacher.

"Good afternoon Mr. Remeous. Pleasure to meet you." Sazi greeted him, shaking his hand.

"Mm." He acknowledged. His eyes roamed the room, taking in the luxury that could only be found in the Capitol. He could see why the citizens of the Capitol conformed to the will of the president so easily. This luxury was enough to seduce anyone.

He'd always got in trouble for that view. As soon as he said anything close to it, people turned on him like wolves. But he wasn't as bad as anyone seemed to think. He was just one of the few people who was brave enough to admit that yes, he did want that life. Now, the real question was what would he do to obtain the life of ease and riches that one could only find in the heart of Panem. Would he cheer on the deaths of children like the Capitol citizens now did? He was also one of the few people able to admit that he wouldn't really be able to say unless presented with that choice.

"Now, Mr. Remeous. Rhiattany Hurli's main claim to ability was that she learned quickly. As her old teacher, can you verify that?"

"Yes, of course. Rhiattany has always been an exceptional student. She's rather ingenious, especially in her creativity. I never doubted that she would do well after she was chosen."

Sazi nodded, like what he was saying was the most fascinating thing she'd heard in years. "Do you think that creativity is what made her a formidable enough opponent to take down To Liscan, who was generally thought to be the biggest competitor in the Hunger Games?"

"Yes. Miss Liscan was also an exceptional girl. I think that if Rhiattany had not fooled her the way she did, To Liscan would have picked off the large alliance and would have soon won."

"Speaking of the alliance, would you recommend that Rhiattany join if you had the opportunity to speak with her?"

"Hmm…No, no. I don't think I would. Tensions in that group have been running rather high of late. I don't think a new member would be very welcome. They'd be excluded from all of the sub-circles within the alliance. Besides, I believe Rhiattany is too clever and independent to easily follow others."

"Do you believe that Miss Hurli has a viable chance of winning the Hunger Games?"

"No less than anyone else, I suppose. By surviving to this point she's proven herself beyond anyone's expectations. I've been quite impressed with her performance. But the arena holds too many variables to make a truly accurate prediction. I don't believe I can honestly pick a winner. Technically any one of these children could win. It all depends."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Remeous."

"It's been my pleasure, Ms. Toonce."

**Devi Jazz; Friend of Narcis Aramis, District 10 Male**

The teenage boy looked like he'd been called in to the principal's office. He sat in the chair, slouched back, arms crossed. He looked even surlier than his friend usually did. He stuck a pinch of chewing tobacco between his gums and left cheek. However he managed to support a tobacco habit, it probably wasn't entirely legal.

"Hello Devi." Tennem began, expecting a child like Devi Jazz to easily accept being called by his first name by adults. Remarkably like his friend, Devi was not so compliant.

"Look. Ya call me Jazz or nothin', got it?" He growled.

"Why, I never-" Tennem spluttered, taken aback.

Devi Jazz's response was to spit the glob of chewing tobacco onto the expensive rug. "Let's get this over with."

Tennem took a deep breath. The president sure knew how to pick them. Maybe she was _trying_ to make him and Erasaziel miserable. It would explain quite a bit about the interviewees. Even if she was, there wasn't much he could do about it anyway.

"What do you think is Narcis'-"

"Aramis'."

"-Aramis' greatest asset?" Tennem said. This boy was truly trying his patience.

"He hates 'em all. 'Cept fer that Disha girl. She could get 'im in trouble." Devi spat into the tray that had been provided for him.

"What is your opinion on the large alliance?"

"I dunno. Seems like a good deal t'me, but if Narcis doesn't like it then that's his problem. He should be able to join or not, if he wants."

"How good of a chance do you think Mr. Aramis has of being our champion?"

"What does it matter?"

"Well, I'd like to know.

_Ptooey_ The chewing tobacco went into the tray. "Why? It ain't gonna make any difference. Can I go?"

"I…suppose." Tennem muttered. The kid spat tobacco on his pants on the way out.

**Ognew Grinkle; Uncle of Eulkichu Dambis**

The man didn't seem to understand why he'd been chosen to talk about his nephew. They weren't unusually close. Sure, they were friends like many family members are, but nothing special. The real reason for his presence was because the boy's mother was the original choice for the interview but unfortunately she and Eulkichu's father were both too grief-stricken to go through with the interview. With his parents out of the picture, the woman sent to serve as the escort was forced to improvise. She had the hots for Ognew (but hated his name), so there he was. Of course, no one had told him this.

Tennem was glad to finally be reaching the end of these horrid interviews. Tsepelia was upset about not being able to perform the interviews. She had no idea how lucky she was.

"Well, Mr. Grinkle. I understand Eulkichu Dambis is your nephew."

"Umm…Yes. He's my…" Ognew trailed off. He was an exceptionally dull man.

"A common comment we've been hearing is that the friends and family are surprised about how well their loved ones are doing. Did Eulkichu surprise you at all?"

"Yeah. I don't know how he can does it."

Tennem winced at the horribly incorrect grammar. How awful. "What is Eulkichu like back home, Ognew?"

"He's a nice kid. He has a cat."

"Ah…Alright then."

There was an awkward silence. Well, it was awkward for Tennem. Ognew was zoning out.

"What's the cat's name?"

"Diggon." Ognew said. He began to chuckle.

"What?" Tennem asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"Diggon's the third cat Eulkichu's had this year. His first one, Lilac, he'd had for a long time. He got a new one named Zoa, and she keeled over the very first day he got her! Eulkichu was so confused. But Diggon's doing fine."

"Hmm. Lovely. Thank you for your time." Said Tennem weakly. It was obvious he wasn't going to get anything useful out of Ognew.

The video clip didn't show Tennem turning to his assistant and saying, "Fire whoever brought him here."

****

Tsepelia smiled. That last interview was hilariously awful. Poor Tennem. Oh well, he and Erasaziel had begged for these interviews. They had to deal with it.

"Thank you for tuning in, ladies and gentlemen. We'll now return to our live broadcast of the Hunger Games."


	16. Evolutions and Berries

**Chapter Fifteen**

**Rhiattany Hurli, District 9**

It's the day I killed To. After a while I gave up on finding a landmark today. I started to look for a nice spot to bed down for the night. I got lucky enough to find a large rock. It'll block most of the wind, from one direction at least.

It's getting late. The anthem should be playing soon. I'm pretty relaxed now. My arms are folded behind my head, and my back is up against a boulder. But I'm hungry.

I stand up and brush myself off. There's another reason I chose this spot. There's a berry bush right across from my rock. I pick a handful, grab the edge of my shirt and make a cup out of it. I dump my berries into my shirt, switch the hand that's holding my "cup" and go back to picking. Once I've got a good haul stored up I wander back to my rock.

The anthem begins to play and I down a handful of berries. As To's face shows up I feel something go wrong.

The berries feel like they're getting bigger, or like my throat is getting smaller. What's happening? I remember these! My mother used to ferment them to make wine since she couldn't afford to buy any in town. But no. I must have been wrong.

The remaining berries tumble out of my lap as I fall forward, grabbing at my throat. I'm hunched over, trying desperately to perform the Heimlich Maneuver on myself, Oh, why didn't I pay more attention to first aid when we learned it?

It's not good. My mind is already deprived of oxygen. I lose the ability to hold myself up and roll over onto my back. I can't move anymore as I stare in horror at my own face in the sky. That's when I give up. Those awful people wouldn't declare me dead if there was any hope for my survival. If they're sure, then it's going to happen.

I can hardly believe it. I died just as soon as I'd accomplished my biggest objective. It feels vaguely ironic. But then again, everything feels vague now. Even my vision is fading.

Maybe because of the lack of blood to my brain, I don't really feel very upset. But maybe that's not it when you get to the very heart of the matter. Maybe it's because I defeated To. I did what I'd set out to do. Maybe I was just feeling accomplished.

Is it wrong to feel that way, that as long as To didn't win then I did in some small way? Before I can pursue the matter any more my body and brain cease to function, and I'm done. For good.

**Flute French, District 2**

We're all staring at the sky in shock. To's dead? Not that this isn't good (great) news for us, but it's a shock. To is- was- such a strong competitor that…I don't know. It's a strange feeling, and not one that I can easily put into words.

I'm bunked with Reb and Jiminy tonight. The really small girl, Rhiattany, shows up next, but no one really has much to say about her. I'm sure she and To will be all we talk about tomorrow, but for now we're mostly stunned into silence.

The anthem finishes. Two people today. Lately one has become a big fatality rate. I wonder if they died fighting each other or something. It would make sense, I suppose.

"I wonder what happened." Murmurs Wrianin. The night wind blows cold across my face, and I snuggle closer to Wrianin for warmth.

"Maybe they killed each other. Like, one died right away and the other was mortally injured while they fought." I suggest.

"Yeah. Or they might not have had any relation to each other at all." Wrianin mutters.

"Mmhmm." I agree. It's always possible.

"Well, g'night." Reb yawns.

"Night Wrianin." I whisper.

That girl, Rhiattany, was even younger than me. Maybe I should have tried to ally with her before we went in. Maybe if I'd taken care of her then she'd still be alive. Or maybe she would have been so scared that she killed me right away. I'll never know, but I can't help wondering about it.

I sigh quietly. I'm in for a long night, I can tell.

_Day twenty-nine._

Well, I was right. Now that the shock has worn off, everyone's buzzing about To and Rhiattany's deaths. Even Red and Seashell have joined in without seeming like they hate the world. It feels like we're people in a small village, where everyone knows everyone and you saw the culprit of the latest scandal last Thursday on your way back from work; or like we're a bunch of old biddies, who like nothing more than sitting down over a steaming pot of gossip and making a day of it. I think I like it.

"I bet To killed the smaller girl and had an accident afterwards." Jiminy puts in.

"Nah. I talked to her a bit. After the interviews, y'know? She's too smart for that." Tech replies.

"What if they had an accident together?" Disha throws out, "Like, they were fighting with each other and slipped off a cliff."

"That could be it. If they were fighting really hard they might not have noticed how close to the edge they were getting." Agrees Rocky. He gets subtle looks from the corner of everyone's eyes, because it's unusual for him to join a conversation without anyone's encouragement.

"Yeah, I could see that. Maybe that's what happened." Reb muses.

There's silence.

"I almost hope Rhiattany killed To. Just since she's so much younger." Aramis ventures.

"Not _that_ much younger." Audio says, "Only several years."

"Still. I always back the underdog." Red says, with only a tiny bit of resentment. I don't like him any more for this brief period of civility. I've still not gotten over him and Disha making fun of Wrianin.

"Yeah. They're the ones that need it." Agrees Tech.

"I wish we'd found her before something happened," I pipe up, voicing my thoughts from last night. "Maybe things would have been different."

"Yeah. I wish that too Sneak." Wrianin says and ruffles my hair. He's been acting a little funny lately. He even offered to give me a piggyback ride earlier. Not that that's unusual for him, but the circumstances just felt off. We move faster when we're all walking, and with me riding, Reb and I are both less use in a fight. I'm puzzling over this when I figure it out, like fitting a puzzle piece finally into place.

I'm now the very youngest person here. Audio's thirteen just like me, but I guess because he's a boy people feel like he doesn't need protection as much as me. I think that's what this is about. They've all decided I need protecting, now that I'm the baby in these Hunger Games. But…I haven't changed at all. I'm still the girl who could sneak up on a bunch of wolves, or get up onto the stage without crying. I'm no weaker than I was yesterday morning. They're being silly. And ageist. This will probably get annoying, and get there faster that Wrianin that one time I found strawberries.

**Eulkichu Dambis, District 12**

I swing my legs back and forth over the edge of the alcove. I've been puttering around since this morning, trying to avoid finally having to set out and do something proactive. There aren't many of us left now. Eight, I believe. Our friends and families are supposed to be interviewed when we get to the final third of the competition. I wonder why…

Maybe it's to really shove this in the face of the people of the Districts. Maybe the Capitol is trying to remind us painfully how these are people. Real people, with lives and families beyond this arena. I bet the people of the Capitol don't see it that way though. They probably just think of it as another fun part of their little reality show. That's one benefit of having your elite citizens be a lot of empty-headed lap dogs. You can do anything you want, no matter how sick or brutal, and they take it all in stride with excitement and silly giggles.

I readjust my knives in my vest and boots and draw the last one. I blow a breath over my lips, preparing myself. I swing myself up over the ridge. I begin to set off into the woods right away, but then decide against it. I turn back to the river and guzzle it desperately, trying to savor every drop. I'm going to orphan myself from this place. I probably won't be coming back any time soon, and I'm pretty sure this is the best water in the arena. Have you ever noticed how delicious water sounds when you don't have any to drink, but as soon as you're drinking it isn't nearly as good? Anyway, back on subject. I pull my head up, wipe my mouth, get ready to leave, and then turn and suck in another huge drink. Man, I have got to stop stalling. I suck water into my cheeks and set off, slowing swallowing the mouthful.

I like feeling like I'm actually doing something useful. But then again, every time I got all psyched up to "go back into the Games" I felt the same way. I just keep starting over, without any actual results. I have the feeling that this time will be different. This is my last new beginning. I just hope that I'll get a happy ending to go with it. Of course, "happy" is a relative term in my situation.

What would be happy? Happy is getting out of here alive. No, that's not right. Getting out of here without killing is happy. To get out of here after committing murder isn't happy, but it's still good. I don't believe that happy ending by that definition is even possible. So maybe I shouldn't even try. Maybe I should aim for a good ending instead.

Then again, maybe a happy ending doesn't mean being released. Maybe "getting out" could mean dying. So…does that mean that dying without killing anyone is a happy ending for the one who dies? Will they find peace that way? But then, what kind of ending is dying after you kill? A tragic ending, I suppose. Not only are you and another dead, but you've ruined your chance for peace.

Am I brave enough to get that happy ending, to allow myself to die?

No. No I'm not. I'm almost ashamed, but this isn't my fault. The person or people I'm going to kill, the life I'm going to win, I didn't want these. I didn't want any of this to happen! If I hadn't been forced into this, I would never have been here. Even if they offered us a life of ease and riches in exchange for participating I never would have even considered it. I want to go home and forget this ever happened, but I can't! I have to do this! I have to! I don't want to, but I've got to do it or I'll die, so don't you judge me! Don't you _dare_ judge me! You'd do the same thing, you know, if this happened to you. You may gasp in offense and deny it, but it's easy to say when you get to sit there in safety. And you're not any better than me, and you never will be.

I throw my knife at a tree in anger. I hate this! So much! I just want to go home. But even if I do, I've been so changed. Me—the old me-- is gone. Old Eulkichu would have run away screaming when he found a corpse, not carried it around for hours. Old Eulkichu wouldn't have been able to get a knife to stick in a tree from fifteen feet away. Old Eulkichu would have run from a fight, not tried to kill his attacker. Who am I? Where did I lose me?

Tears sting my eyes as I yank the knife out of the tree. I hate crying, not because I'm so macho that I can't display emotion or something stupid like that, but just because I hate how it feels. You gasp and sob, and your nose runs, and your eyes feel all wet and stinging at the same time. The tears make your face sticky, your eyes are red, and you look like a train wreck that's been nuclear bombed and crashed into again. So I won't cry. At least, not much.

I wipe my eyes. There's something relieving about a good cry, I must admit. It helps to release whatever was making you cry, I guess. Maybe this is part of my final new beginning. Maybe I'm crying to get rid of everything I've gone through, as much as I'll ever be able to. Then I ought to let myself cry, oughtn't I?

I decide that crying is my best option right now. In my final revolution of Eulkichu I don't need emotional baggage, and I want it even less. My fresh start needs to be just that. I can't have stale pain sitting around, festering with old fear and guilt. Maybe that's the best way for me to achieve my "good ending". I just need to be able to forget it all. Is that even possible? Oh well. Knowing the Capitol they could probably operate on my brain and make me not even care about the things I'd done. Assuming I survive to do them.

So those are my prime objectives. Forget and survive. I'll have to pursue survival first, and if I succeed I'll have a lifetime to work on forgetting. If I die I'll forget, but that's not the kind of forgetting that I want to do. I wipe my eyes.

Okay. I need a plan if I'm going to survive. I can't just wander around and hope I get lucky. I need to find my opponents and eliminate them. I suppose you could argue that I can wait for them to kill each other but I just don't think I'll be able to anymore. I'm so set on forward action now that I doubt I'll be able to sit still anymore. At best I'll be walking the forest, pacing in my little cage. At worst I'll be out killing. I guess which one it is all depends on who I happen to run into.

I keep going, crying hard, but silently. Noise is bad. Noise means the enemy knows where you are, even if you don't know where they are. _Old Eulkichu wouldn't have known that._

Suddenly the birds stop. It means something's scared them silent. _Old Eulkichu wouldn't have noticed that._

I slowly slide behind a tree, ready to throw my knife the second I see someone. _Old Eulkichu wouldn't have thought that._

I hear footsteps. A lot of footsteps. I crouch slowly down and duck behind a bush. A group of people rounds the corner, talking in rushed tones. My eyes widen. It looks like all of my opponents have banded together. It's just not fair. I can't believe it. It'll make them so much harder to kill. I'm frustrated now. _Old Eulkichu wouldn't have felt that._

I wait for them to pass. I allow them to get slightly out of view before I follow them. I can't do anything right now; I'll have to wait until they go to bed. They'll probably have someone on night watch so I'll need to kill their guard and work my way into their camp to kill the rest of them. _Old Eulkichu wouldn't have planned that._

I need to do something. I've got them all in one place; maybe this is a blessing in disguise. I can get rid of all my opponents in one attack. I wish they'd just put up camp so I can get this over with already. _Old Eulkichu wouldn't have wanted that._

_Shut up!_ I snap at my subconscious, and just like that, old Eulkichu is gone.

**Disha Lawrence, District 4**

We've been running the same circles in our conversation for hours, but we can't talk about anything else. They were the only ones left who weren't a part of our group, weren't they? Nobody knows for sure. Some people insist that no, there's others left. Some are convinced that it's down to us now, and we'll be out of here any day now.

Of course, there's always an underlying, _Provided we don't starve to death before then,_ behind their words.

Food is still a big problem. We haven't eaten since some nuts that we found yesterday. There were a lot of them, but they had really hard shells. We couldn't get most of them open, even after we tried smashing them with rocks. Starvation is a real and deadly problem. Even when you're surrounded by allies who you can trust won't hurt you, there's always that final guillotine hanging over you. That might be why they called this "The Hunger Games". No matter what you do, the hunger is at your heels. The hunger is going to get you eventually.

"Ow!" Snaps Flute. I'd been lost in thought. I hadn't noticed that she'd stopped and I walked right into her. "Watch out, Lawrence." She growls.

I must admit I'm surprised. I didn't think French had the guts to order anyone around. Of course, she's also incredibly annoying. "Then don't stop, shortstack." I retort. French stiffens. She's been twitchy all day, especially when someone has said "little" or "young". I never noticed that she was sensitive about her size. She's not small for a twelve-year-old. Oh well. If I can use it against her, I'm all for it.

"Like you're so much better. I bet your still sit in a high chair at dinner." She snaps.

"Oh, I'm _so_ offended." I drawl sarcastically, "Learn some insults, midget, _then_ we'll talk."

"Why are you like this?! What did I do?!" She shouts.

"Look, sweetheart," I say, "You and your buddies are getting me killed. What _haven't_ you done?"

The others are looking at us now, but that's fine with me. I don't mind an audience, especially when the person I'm fighting with can't throw an insult to save her life.

"We're not going to die! Stop saying that!" Flute shouted.

"With Abro's idea? Yeah, we'll die. In case you didn't notice the last time he faced off against the Capitol, the rebels got their butts kicked. And, oh! _That's_ right! We ended up in the Hunger Games. Forgive me for not falling blindly in line."

I have to admit she surprised me. Well, she surprised all of us when she launched herself at me.

She slams into me, knocking me backwards. I shriek. Don't get me wrong, I love a good argument. But I'm not so into it when things get physical. I didn't think French was the kind of girl who was in to fighting either. Maybe she just snapped. It's always the ones that seem nice who snap. I remember one girl from several years ago that was under too much pressure diving in areas that were known to have remnants of seagoing muttations. She used to be so sweet and intelligent (I hate girls like that) until she got that job. She started getting more and more on edge and short-tempered, until one day she freaked out and attacked a Peacekeeper. She was executed for assaulting an officer. My guess would be that French has reached her limit just like Mutt Girl.

I shriek in pain and surprise as French rakes her fingernails down my face, opening narrow cuts in my cheek. I try to kick her off, but she's heavier than she looks, and I'm weaker than a lot of District 4.

She looks like she's about ready to bite into my neck when Abro grabs her and lifts her off. Like, straight off. Maybe she's not heavy after all. Maybe I'm just a wimp. Narcis pulls me to my feet and I stumble into him, still unsure on my feet.

"You're crazy!" I splutter. French is still struggling to get away from Abro and attack me again.

"Flute! Flute!" He shouts and grabs her shoulders again as she worms away. He wraps his arms around her shoulders, pinning her arms down. She's still kicking and lunging at me while he drags her back and away.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" I shout as Narcis pulls me back. I don't blame the guys for dragging us around. We're both so worked up right now that we might get violent again.

There's a brooding silence for the rest of the day. French and I don't look at each other, despite the unusual camaraderie everyone shared this morning. Abro's always at her side, just in case she flips out again. Narcis is at my elbow, letting me stew silently. He understands the need to just be mad sometimes.

Dinner is eaten the same way. Not that we really have much dinner, just a small handful of leftover nuts. Normally everyone would gather around in circle and talk. Well, everyone but me and Narcis. But today the mood's been poisoned, even for the others. Frank and Abro are sitting on either side of French. Nobody can forget what happened only a couple of hours ago. It's a blaring reminder that no matter how much we gossip, tensions are running high. No matter how much Abro insists that we're all friends, we're not. Not even close.

"It's Seashell's turn to take first watch." Mutters Abro. You can tell he's afraid I'll murder Flute in her sleep or something. Honestly. You'd think I was the one who assaulted her instead of the other way around.

We've divided into our usual groups: Narcis and me, Audio and Fenn, and Frank, French, and Abro. Narcis and I are on the far side of the clearing away from French. Lome and Zete are as far away from both groups as they can get, like they don't want to get involved in our insanity. I don't blame them; French is a psycho.

I sit up with my back against a tree as always. Everyone else has fallen asleep. It's dark; the moon has waned to a crescent. I can't see all that much, but I can hear a lot. The animals are making night noises that don't scare me anymore. I sit silently, scanning the clearing with my limited vision. I'm still fired up about French. I freeze. Across the clearing, I can see something between the leaves of a bush.

A pair of eyes.

**A/N**- A big, big, apology to .Summer-rain for killing off Rhiattany. I'm so sorry! Let's all make it up to her by going to read her story The 100th Hunger Games! And while I'm pushing my friends' stories, check out LoveTheBoyWithTheBread's stories, one of which may be appearing in _Russian_ soon. And now I'll let you go back to your daily lives. Thanks so much for reading.

**Surviving Contestants**

District 1: None

District 2: Fenn Zete (Fen Zet)

Flute French (I don't _really_ need to explain this one, right?)

District 3: Audio Lome (Aw-dee-oh Loam)

District 4: Disha Lawrence (Disha Lore-ence)

District 5: None

District 6: Wrianin Abro (Ree-anne-in Ah-bro)

District 7: None

District 8: Jiminy Frank (Jim-in-ee Fraynk)

District 9: None

Distict 10: Narcis Aramis (Nawr-siss Air-uh-miss)

District 11: None

Distict 12: Eulkichu Dambis (Ul-kitch-oo Dam-biss)


	17. Two Birds

**Chapter Sixteen**

**Eulkichu Dambis**

I realize I've made a mistake. Maybe the worst possible one I ever could. I got too close; even the thin moonlight was enough to expose me.

The girl who was on night watch growls and lunges across the clearing. "Disha?" Mumbles the guy she was sitting next to as he sits up and rubs his eyes sleepily. My cover is blown and that girl is after me; I need to get out of here.

I turn and run, crashing through the undergrowth. She's already woken her friends up. Being quiet isn't going to help at all. If I move fast enough I can outrun her and lose her in the trees. Speed is more important than stealth at the moment.

I quickly realize the hole in my plan. The girl, Disha, is running faster than I am. It's no wonder; my foot fell asleep a while back.

I put on a burst with panic, but she ups her pace as well. I glance quickly over my shoulder. Her face is twisted with fury; it's scary. Something has put her over the edge. And there's no way I'll be able to outrun her, so I'll have to face her and hope I can finish her before her friends get here. I sprint even harder until I break into a clearing, Disha thundering after me. I fumble in my jacket pocket, whirl on my heel, and smash the vial of acid against her face.

The screams are instantaneous. Disha smashes into me, sending us both sprawling. She claws at her eyes and howls in agony as I scramble back, shocked at the effect.

I recognized it as soon as I found it with the compass in the little pack I'd picked up at the clearing on the first day. Peacekeepers use it for interrogations or torture. I've seen it applied in the streets to captured rebels before. I realize that the acid they used was not pure, it was very watered down. It was nowhere near as strong as what I just threw into Disha's face.

Disha writhes in pain a mere foot from my shoes, as I crabwalk clumsily backward in shock. I wonder if I'm dreaming, because the scene in front of me is anyone's idea of a nightmare.

The acid is eating away her face.

Her skin blisters and melts; her lips are gone. I throw up all over myself in disgust. Her eyes melt with a hiss; I can't move, pinned with horror.

I can see bits of bone and teeth, riddled with holes and blackened. All of a sudden her howls gurgle to a stop. I can see why. The acid has eaten into her brain. And when I say I can see why, I mean I can see her brain hissing and melting.

I hear a new shout, with a new kind of pain lacing it. It's someone, I think the boy who first called her name when she chased me, calling out her name. I'm still floating in limbo, so I don't feel his knife when he stabs me.

I fall down next to Disha's disfigured corpse. Some part of me thinks vaguely that she doesn't look like a doll the way To did. That makes her death seem worse. I don't know why disfigured remains would make death any worse; you don't need a body when you're dead. It doesn't matter to me anymore, that's for sure.

Because I'm dead now. I don't get a happy ending, or even a good one. But then again, isn't that the point of the Hunger Games?

**Narcis Aramis, District 10**

"No," I mumble, "No, no, no, no." I leave the knife in the guy's stomach. They won't take him away until…after. I rush to Disha, still saying "no" over and over. It's really a lovely word, no. I love the fact that it's only two letters. It's so concise and defiant, just like what it means. Also, it's so short that you can say it over and over in a short amount of time. It doesn't make it any more effective, but it feels good.

I yank her shoulder, flopping her limp head toward me and suck in my breath. Her face doesn't even look like a face anymore. Half of it is melted away. I've never seen something like this. I don't know how he did it, but he's destroyed her. Suddenly it doesn't seem fair that he's dead. I should have tortured him first.

The others begin to arrive, still mostly asleep. They start to wake up real fast. I hear Frank telling French to stay back, to not come into the clearing.

"Why not?" I call bitterly, "She hated Disha. You'd think she'd be glad to see her dead."

"I'd what?" She says in horror.

"Sneak, stop!" Wrianin says. He can't seem to pull his eyes away from Disha's corpse. Audio has staggered away and I can hear him getting sick in the bushes. Fenn has been approaching more slowly, warier than the others. I hear his gasp of horror and disgust. Flute breaks free of the boys holding her back and lunges into the clearing. She sucks in a breath and turns quickly on her heel.

"This is your fault, you know." I mutter.

I can feel everyone looking at me incredulously. "_What?_" She splutters, so surprised she looks up from her shoes.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Exclaims Frank, grabbing her and pulling her toward him protectively.

"Yeah." I say to the trees instead of turning to look at them. "Disha knew she couldn't fight to save her life. She wouldn't usually have charged off like that. She only did it because she was already on edge. She only did it because you picked a fight with her earlier. If you hadn't shouted at her for something as stupid as stepping on your foot, she'd still be alive right now."

"What- but- no! That's not true! It's not my fault!" She shouts. I can hear panic slipping into her voice.

"No, it's not." Says Frank coldly.

"Yeah it is." I growl back.

"Stop saying that!" She screams, covering her ears.

"C'mon, Flute. We're done here." Frank says, glaring at me. He grabs onto French's arm and pulls her back toward camp. He disappears through the trees, followed eventually by the sound of French's sobs.

Abro turns painfully after a moment of silence. He leaves through the trees, slowly, like these deaths have aged him. Yeah right. Like he cared about either of them.

Audio hasn't come back after he ran to hurl in the bushes. I don't know or care where he is.

It's just me and Fenn now. I'd almost forgotten he was here. He takes a step forward and then stops. He opens his mouth, and then changes his mind.

He takes another step forward. "I'm sorry." He mutters.

"Like that's going to help." I say dully.

He looks at me and then turns to walk slowly away. "But thanks." I croak.

He doesn't respond. There's really nothing he can say. It's better that he doesn't try. I think he can tell. He seems to know how to behave around all of us. He knows what to do. He listens enough and says little enough that he's learned what response we want. That's something Abro lacks. He just assumes that we all want to be friends like he does. Not everybody feels that way, but try telling him that.

I sit next to Disha, folding my legs slowly. It's almost painful. I rest my face on my hands. I cover my eyes; I don't want to look at her. What I've seen already will provide me with material for nightmares for the rest of my life. I don't need to add on to that.

I'm not really sure how long the rest of my life will be. With Abro in charge, it might be a while. It takes time to starve to death. Maybe it's better Disha's dead now, instead of later.

No. Definitely not.

I smash my face into my hands, sobs wracking my body. Disha was my only friend! I'm already going to die; it's not fair that I have to die alone. Why did he have to kill her? I can't do this anymore! I can't!

I cry hard and freely for a long time before I hear quiet footsteps behind me.

"Come on, Aramis. You need to come back to camp." Prompts Zete quietly.

"No! Shut up and leave me alone!" I shout. My voice is wrecked from crying, and it doesn't sound as angry or commanding as I'd hoped.

"Look, Aramis-" He tries again.

"I said, SHUT UP!" I scream. This time it comes out full force, backed by my pain and anger and fear and loneliness.

"You didn't care about her! None of you did. You don't know what you're losing. And all of you have your little friends! At least you have somebody to die with. She was the only person here who cared about me! She was my friend, and you all want me to just waltz back to camp and forget about her!"

He stands for a moment in silence, and I think he's given up on arguing. I turn back to Disha and the grief hits me again. She was cranky. She was sarcastic. She couldn't fight or even pull her own weight around camp. But she was funny. She was smart. She wouldn't have killed for all the riches in Panem. She was my friend, and every heartbeat is one more without her. One more moment when I'm alone.

"Listen." He begins, "I don't know what you're feeling, Aramis. I'm not going to pretend that I do. I've never lost someone like that. I can imagine that it's too awful to describe. I can go on and on about how I feel your pain, but I really don't. I'm sorry. I could tell you that you need to move on and make her sacrifice worthwhile. But that won't make this any less painful. So just get up. I came here on my own, you know. Nobody told me to give you a pep talk. Just keep living because you survived. You may not have friends left, but you have people who don't want to see you or anybody else die. I cared enough to come here for you, didn't I? You can't act like you're totally alone. So just come on. You can mourn back at camp."

He finishes his speech and I sit there for a moment. Disha's dead and I'm facing the rest of my time alone. Or am I? I can't live totally on my own; I've come to rely so heavily on Disha's friendship and support. But maybe I can survive on my own and get home if I keep charging through.

"Fine." My voice crackles out of my throat.

"Good. Let's collect the guy's stuff."

We silently agree to leave Disha's body alone. She was our- my- friend, not just some source to be raided for supplies.

We collect five knives from the boy. Four from his jacket, and one from his belt. I'd be amazed if I wasn't wallowing in grief and about to give up on life. Fenn pulls a compass from his vest.

"Let's go." He says. As we walk slowly back to camp I hear the hovercraft come to take them away. It's hard to keep walking away. When I hear the humming stop, that's it. She's gone.

Zete is quiet again. He breaks out of his shell every once in a while. Usually it's to weigh in his opinion with a sentence or two. That speech he made probably used up his quota of words for the next week. I'm glad though. Zete's speech was meant to get me up and functioning again, and it's done that. But it had another effect. He's made me determined to win. I don't care when or who dies, but I will go home.

Eventually.

I falter. Even when Disha and I knew we were going to starve, we never considered murder. It just wasn't an option to us. Can I forget that now that she's gone? Yes, I have to! No, what's really changed? I'm still Narcis. But I don't want to die!

My thoughts bounce around inside my skull dizzyingly. I'm too confused right now to make the right decision, whatever it is. I've heard it said that you should never make a decision when you're upset. I'm beyond upset; I'll have to wait until I am a little calmer. If I ever calm down. If I ever learn to accept what happened to Disha. If I ever accept that my friend was brutally murdered. No. I don't think I will; I don't think I should.

Zete leads me into the camp and wanders into the back of the clearing to sit up against a tree. Abro looks up and smiles, relieved. He thinks his little wayward subject is back to serve the king. Well, he doesn't know what I know. He doesn't know I'm trying to rack up the courage to kill him and the others.

They didn't know Disha, even though she lived with them for weeks. They didn't care about her, although they parade around looking like such mourners. But Disha, even in memory, is the only thing keeping them alive.

**Surviving Contestants**

District 1: None

District 2: Fenn Zete (Fen Zet)

Flute French (I don't _really_ need to explain this one, right?)

District 3: Audio Lome (Aw-dee-oh Loam)

District 4: None

District 5: None

District 6: Wrianin Abro (Ree-anne-in Ah-bro)

District 7: None

District 8: Jiminy Frank (Jim-in-ee Fraynk)

District 9: None

Distict 10: Narcis Aramis (Nawr-siss Air-uh-miss)

District 11: None

Distict 12: None


	18. Friendship

**A/N**- First off, I'm so sorry that this took so long. My laptop died and my charger was broken. I had to get a new one. So sorry! But here you go. Updates should be much more frequent form now on, because the play I'm in is coming to a close. So, enjoy.

**Chapter Seventeen**

**Audio Lome, District 3**

I can't believe what happened. I wasn't close to Disha; I didn't even like her. I still can't get over the sight of her face, melting an' smoking. Just thinkin' about it I still feel like I'm gonna hurl. It was the most horrible sight I ever saw in my life. It's gonna give me nightmares forever. Poor Disha. Nobody deserves to die like that, and nobody deserves to have to watch it.

We've holed up for the night. We're all lying around like we're gonna go to sleep, but I don't think any of us are. Especially since we're the only ones left now. There's no arguin' about that anymore. It's just us; we're all sure.

I guess we'll know soon if Wrianin's plan's goin' to work. If it doesn't I dunno what I'm going to do. I don't think I can kill anybody. Maybe if I were desperate I could attack 'em, but Wrianin would beat me bad. It would never work. If Wrianin's plan doesn't work…

My thoughts are interrupted by the anthem. "Disha Lawrence." Aramis turns his head away. I can see tears by the light of the projection. "Eulkichu Dambis." So that was the guy who killed Disha.

We lose ourselves in our individual thoughts for a while. Slowly, we all begin to look at each other. Every time we catch somebody's eye we look away fast. It feels…bad. Like we're being naughty children for lookin' at each other or something. We shouldn't feel that way. We're not naked or anything. There's no reason not to look at each other. But then again, maybe it's because of that anthem. I know we're all lookin' at each other, tryin' to be sneaky. We're all lookin' at the other five people alive in here. We're all thinkin', _Will this work, or will I hafta kill 'em all?_

Well, not so much Reb, Sneak, an' Jiminy. They're more thinkin', _Will this work, or will we all starve to death?_ They're too trusting.

I dunno what Fenn's thinkin'; he's a friend of mine I guess, but he doesn't let his feelings show most of the time.

Aramis is probably still mourning Disha and thinking about how much he hates us all.

And me? I'm distracting myself by thinkin' about what everybody else it thinking about. Of course, you already knew that.

I really hope this works. I don't know that it will, but Reb's heart is in the right place, and I really don't want to die. Or kill. I catch Flute's eye and hold her gaze, tryin' to get over the weird feeling that we're not allowed to look at each other. She looks at me for a few moments, then falters and looks down.

I stare at my feet again. This silent, not lookin' at each other phase goes on for about another three minutes before Sparky tensely says, "Goodnight." And rolls over abruptly. Others murmur goodnight too and we lie down with our backs to each other. This is going to be one long night. 

_Day thirty._

_Day thirty-one._

_Day thirty-two._

Actually, it's been a long three days. We've been doing a lot of wanderin' around. We're all still lost in thought, but we better find our way out pretty dang fast, because we haven't eaten in two days.

"We'll set up camp here." Abro proclaims cheerfully. Flute looks at him with a sorta pleading look, and I can tell the hunger hurts her too. And man, it hurts. I don't know if I'll be able to sleep tonight. We need food; we need it bad. Or it's not gonna matter how long we can go without hurtin' each other.

Sneak and Sparky are whispering urgently to Abro. It looks like they're pleading with him to keep going, to look for food. But he won't. He shakes his head. Their shoulders slump and they get ready to go to sleep.

My stomach twists painfully and growls like an angry dog. I know the others will be looking at me out of the corner of their eyes. It's sorta a knee-jerk reaction to look at someone when they make a sudden noise. You don't always wanna, even if you do it. They all go back to settin' up for bed, with the occasional grumble of their own. At one point, Aramis' stomach grumbles real loud, and Flute obediently looks up. Her head ducks back down real fast. She's still upset about what happened to Disha; Aramis convinced her it was her fault. Knowin' him, he might just be sayin' that to make her feel bad. Or maybe he finally went over the deep end. Wouldn't surprise me.

I lay down, and I was right. The hollowness of my stomach makes it hard to go to sleep. I do eventually, and my dreams are strange. When Fenn shakes me awake the next morning, I don't remember them though. My stomach hurts, so bad. My head is spinning. If I was lucid, I'd realize that I'm not starving as much as I'm getting dehydrated. No, I'd say we've got another week or week n' a half before our eating habits catch up with us. But I'm way too loopy for that thought to process.

I stumble to my feet and clumsily pack up my things. The weight of my backpack's almost enough to knock me over. I don't get it. It wasn't this heavy before I went to sleep. Maybe…Aramis stuck some of his stuff in my bag so he wouldn't have to carry it? But then that thought drifts away. I don't think he would. He's obnoxious, but not that bad.

I'm cold, even though nobody else seems to be. I keep getting all dizzy for a second, and my mouth is dry. It's so distractin', that I almost can't walk straight. And the next thing I know, I can't.

I stumble forward, into Flute.

"Aah! What- what are you doing, Tech?" She splutters.

"N-nothing. I'm sorry." I mumble and she looks back at her feet. That's where her eyes seem to be most of the time these days.

I try to walk right, and I do such a fine job that I don't think anyone else knows how fast my heart's beatin', or how quickly I'm breathin'. They can't tell that my arms and legs hurt and tingle or that my head's poundin'. I don't let them realize how I can barely move my feet, which have gotten so, so, heavy.

We don't find any food today. Or water. When Reb says it's time to set up camp I can barely breathe. _Maybe I ought to tell 'em about this… _My mind protests, but I'm so confused and tired that I can't hold on to the thought and act on it at the same time. I don't have that kind of double focus anymore.

As the anthem comes on I can barely see the stars. The night sky seems even darker today than usual. The music plays and as far as I can tell no one's died. Makes sense I guess.

I close my eyes and slip into sleep with the pain in my chest and stomach doing nothing to keep my eyes open this time. 

_Day thirty-three._

**Flute French, District 2**

I open my eyes and instantly regret it. The sun hurts, for one. And so does my stomach. I finished my water yesterday, and my throat's starting to feel really dry. But Wrianin's shaking my shoulder, and that means we need to go. I try to cheer myself up. We're going out to look for food and water. I'm going to get to eat again! But…we were looking for food yesterday, and we didn't find anything.

"Alright guys. Le's get ready t'go." Grumbles Wrianin, running his words together and dropping letters the way people do when they're tired. He's as uncomfortable and unhappy as all of us. Besides, he really isn't a morning person, although he does his best. "E'erybody up!"

We're all groaning and beginning to pack. "Hey, Audio, get up." Grumbles Jiminy.

Aramis bumps into me. "Watch it." He growls, and I stare at my feet, clenching my fists, and trying to ignore the hate and guilt vying for control.

All of a sudden Sparky bursts out, "Wrianin! Reb! Audio's dead!"

The shock slams into our stomachs, leaving us silent. Reb licks his lips. "What- what did you say?"

"He's dead!" Screams Jiminy, "He didn't get up when I shook him and he doesn't have a pulse and he's _dead_!"

No one can say anything. Even Narcis is just standing there in shock. I can't make myself talk, but at the same time I can't stop the tears that abruptly decided to make an entrance. For a minute we stand, stricken, Jiminy panting with emotion, Wrianin ramrod straight and stiff, Narcis with his mouth hanging open, Fenn obviously fighting to remain stoic, and me crying silently.

Stiffly, Fenn takes a few slow steps toward Tech's body. He kneels abruptly and feels Audio's neck. "He's dead." He confirms hoarsely. "We better…move on."

Wrianin comes out of whatever trance he seems to have been in and walks forward blankly to help take Tech out of his sleeping bag. "Get his pack." He grumbles at Sparky. My friend does as he's ordered, clearly trying not to lose it.

We pack up camp in total silence. We stand, prepared to go, yet utterly unready to leave our friend behind. Rocky steps up to Audio's body, and smoothes his hair back with difficulty. Fenn may be quiet, but he cares about other people just as much as any of us.

Wrianin bends down and puts a hand on Tech's shoulder. He looks hunched and pained; like that gesture is the most he can bear.

Red doesn't make a move toward the body, but bows his head silently.

Sparky walks forward, shaking, and kneels next to the body. He touches his forehead to Audio's briefly and stands up in a jerky way.

I wait until last. I can't believe that this is happening. Well, actually, I can. I do believe it. I realize what's going on. But "I can't believe it" is as close as I can get to describing what's going on inside of me. I can't put it into better words. I walk forward, toward him, and kneel with difficulty. I lean down, awkwardly trying to hug him. He's stiff and cold. No one should ever feel like that.

Jiminy helps me to my feet, and we stand in silent vigil for a moment. As one we, the _five_ of us, turn and leave without a single word. Because really, what can we possibly say?

**Narcis Aramis, District 10**

I hate them. I hate them all. They say that their mission is to save everyone, to help anybody willing to accept their help. And they act it out to. When somebody like Audio who likes them and their ideals dies, well, that's a huge tragedy. But when it's somebody like Disha, who doesn't follow them or trust them, they don't care at all. They're liars, not saviors. They're a cult.

We walk in silence. Everybody's upset about his death. We don't know how it happened. And he was one of the in-between people. He and Fenn are the ones who don't feel fanatical about the plan one way or the other. They support it, but do it quietly enough so that they don't act like slobbering idiots the way Frank, French, and Abro do. Now the bridge between Abro's little clique and me has become even more strained. Fenn's the glue now. If something happens to him everything's going to snap, I'm sure.

Abro announces that we're stopping here for the night. We found some berries at around noon, so we're not quite as starving as we usually are. We lie down, French with Zete instead of Abro and Frank tonight. She wants to support him, since he was probably better friends than any of us with Lome. As for Abro and Frank, they're together as usual. I'm alone. It's better this way, I think. The anthem plays out of the blue. "Audio Lome." States the announcer. I roll over. Enough is enough.

We get to sleep more easily tonight. We're all exhausted. The worst thing? We all know tomorrow isn't going to be any better.

_Day thirty-four. _

_Day thirty-five._

**Surviving Contestants**

District 1: None

District 2: Fenn Zete (Fen Zet)

Flute French (I don't _really_ need to explain this one, right?)

District 3: None

District 4: None

District 5: None

District 6: Wrianin Abro (Ree-anne-in Ah-bro)

District 7: None

District 8: Jiminy Frank (Jim-in-ee Fraynk)

District 9: None

Distict 10: Narcis Aramis (Nawr-siss Air-uh-miss)

District 11: None

Distict 12: None


	19. Disappearance

**Chapter 18**

**Jiminy Frank, District 8**

_Day thirty-six._

_Day thirty-seven.  
_

Fenn is gone. He disappeared last night. No one knows where he went, but we think he starved. He went off on his own, like a cat, to die. Now there's a prevailing silence in the camp. We all just feel numb and sluggish. We can't make ourselves get up. When we saw he was gone this morning, something inside of us just collapsed.

Reb is staring at the fire, murmuring to himself. He's been out of sorts for a while now, and it's getting worse.

Flute is curled up against him. She looks so small next to bulky Wrianin. It doesn't help that she lost so much body weight.

Red is looking off into space, as far away as he can get while still technically being in camp. He seems to be thinking very hard about something important.

As for me, I'm slumped over, looking at my hands. I wish Fenn hadn't felt the need to die alone. Touching someone's forehead with your own is a traditional gesture of respect and closure used after death in District 8. It's harder to feel at peace with their memory without it.

I don't know what's going to happen to us. This group has dissolved into Wrianin, me, and Sneak. Aramis is just...there. And all three (or four, depending on how you look at it) of us feel too drained to do anything. I'm so hungry, _so_ hungry, but I can't make myself move. It's just too much. Too much. To do anything.

I know what my father would say if he were here. He'd say that we Franks have always had to work hard to make a name for ourselves, and that I need to snap out of this depression and look at the facts.

Fact 1: I'm starving to death.

Fact 2: Our group is four now, half of what it once was.

Fact 3: We're too grief-wracked to find any food. At this rate we're going to meet Fenn's fate very soon.

Fact 4: One of the four people alive here would probably like to see me dead.

Fact 5: I've been locked in an elaborate death chamber by the Capitol.

Fact 6: I'm really glad that dad's not here.

I sigh and lay my forehead against my knees, tears sliding down my face. I rub my eyes angrily. Guys aren't supposed to cry.

Well, the facts stink. Big time. Thanks, dad. Thanks for reminding me about all that.

"Are we just going to sit here until we starve?" Says Red. He sounds tired now, instead of sarcastic, like he can't summon up enough emotion to be angry.

"No." Croaks Wrianin. He painfully straightens himself up. Flute whimpers and he lifts her to her feet. She sways for a moment. She's devastated. She seemed to think that as long as she still had Fenn around, she was doing some good. She was helping someone. Now she can barely find any reason to stand up.

He picks up a pack, apparently at random, and looks at us dully. Clearly we're expected to do the same.

I grab a backpack and a lone blanket. Flute just looks at her feet. After we're done collecting our things, we sort of stand around and wait for someone to start moving. None of us want to make any decision right now, but we need to. We have to keep going. We have to find food. We have water now. We found that stream. But we haven't eaten in two days. Flute abruptly begins to meander off. It seems more like she's just lost in thought and thanatopsis than going anywhere, but we follow her anyway.

There's no order to our march anymore. We used to follow a strict order, but now we're just floating because we think we need to. We don't walk in formation now. Reb doesn't care if he's at the front, where before he always wanted to be the one forging ahead. If Aramis or anybody else just wandered away at some point, I don't know if I'd go after them at this point. I don't know if I'd even notice.

We stop after a few hours, and just lie down. I think we're too exhausted to do anything but sleep, because the realization has dawned.

The Capitol doesn't care.

We're not getting out of here.

Reb was wrong.

We're going to die. We're going to die. We're going to die. We're all going to die.

But it doesn't change a thing. I can't change my mind and hurt these people. They're my family. Even Aramis is like that one problem child brother that you hate. As much as you may dislike them, you couldn't really hurt them, and their being gone would leave a huge hole in your life. So now we're all just going to...end, I guess. Eventually we'll just be gone.

_The following segment has been removed. Clearance level eight required. I apologize for the inconvenience. To access this selection, please click __**here**__ and enter your passcode. Thank you for your consideration._

I sob into the ground, not trying to stop the tears anymore. I've given up. My fury is spent. I am too. I'm just...used up by this arena. This stupid arena. Y'know, of all the swear words saved up in my sixteen-year-old mind, stupid is the most I can manage right now. We stay there for a long time. I don't even bother pulling my face out of the grass. I stay there for hours, until the anthem.

"Fenn Zete."

Well. There it is. Now we can all stop wondering and be sure. He's gone. Forever.

I'm seized with a sudden frenzy. I need to do something! We're going to die if we don't find food! We have to survive. I can't let my friends or myself die. Tomorrow then. Tomorrow I'll show those sadists. They won't win. I won't let them. 

_Day thirty-eight_

**Wrianin Abro, District 6**

I want nothing more than to give up. It's easier to just lay down and accept things. But I can't. I remember that night, when our platoon was decimated. When I lost so many friends and Aror spoke those two words, my talisman. "It'll be."

I've lived by those words for a long time. When my father died. When I was appointed the leader of a youth platoon (a last-ditch defense of the rebels. They were guerilla groups who were made up of people fourteen to eighteen years old.). When the rebellion was finally crushed. When I was reaped for the Hunger Games. But now…

Will it? How long do I have to be, to exist? And my friends? I'm tougher than they are. How long can they hold on? The last pieces of my alliance, my last companions, are falling one by one. We've made it. We've outlived all of our enemies. And now we're dying anyway. It's ironic. We've achieved what we wanted to. A non-violent group. And now the clock is ticking.

Sneak has my arm. She's holding it tighter than I ever knew she could. It's all I can do not to break down and crush her up against myself, holding her like a favorite doll. But Flute needs my strength. I can't show love and strength at the same time, not anymore. So I walk and try not to think.

**Narcis Aramis, District 10**

Well. There you have it. The Capitol is going to let us starve. There was always something that felt flawed about Abro's plan, and now I see what it was. He was operating under the assumption that we'd actually be able to find food. Well, we can't. Congratulations, Abro. You've killed us all.

I kick a tree, over and over again. The blunt pain in my toe is satisfying on some base level. Maybe this is the reason people will cut themselves. Because it compensates for another type of pain and lets you release it though brute force and action.

I reel back and kick the tree harder than absolutely necessary. I hear something crack, followed by a sharp pain in my foot. I swallow my scream of pain and, cursing, limp to a patch of thick grass. Maybe I shouldn't have done that. After a while, when my foot doesn't stop hurting and I can't move my toe, I curse loudly. Just what I needed to make my day. A broken toe. Swell. Glorious. How could this get better?

And before anybody points out that it's not raining, shut up. Whenever somebody says, "At least it's not raining." It starts raining. So don't even try it.

I have to choose, as I brood over my broken toe. What can I do? Can I make myself a martyr, die the better person? Or am I going to fight for my life? They don't deserve it any more than I do.

I'm going to take my life back. Just like that, I reach my decision. I'm sorry Wrianin. I'm sorry Jiminy. And I'm sorry Flute. I mean it. I may not like you all- okay, I hate you, but I'm not evil. I don't want you to die. But that's what it's going to take. I'm sorry.

Now the only question is when.

**Flute French, District 2**

I can't help it. My friends are slipping through my finger like handfuls of sand. I'm losing them, and I don't know how much I can lose without something even more important disappearing. I cling hard to Wrianin's arm, trying not to cry. Usually he would have cheered me up, offered me a piggyback ride, but he's suffering too. I don't know that he has comfort to spare. I tried to comfort him, at first. After I managed to struggle through the first waves of emotion after Audio died. But it didn't make any difference. I don't know where Reb has gone, but it's too deep inside him to be pulled out by me alone.

I think I've given up. Maybe I'll find some more strength inside of me to smile at him again, but I doubt it. I need him too much. I always thought I was so strong and brave, but now I see I never was. I just had the right people to lean on. And without Wrianin, who's always been the strongest, I'm drowning. He's my life raft, though he seems like he's going under too.

But he can't, he can't! He's our leader. Why can't he see we need him? Why can't he make himself smile and be brave, for us? If he could just summon that old smile and laugh, everything would seem so much more alright. But he won't even try.

I wrap my arms tightly around his. I cling to him, both this newer, sadder, Wrianin and the memory of him that I know he could bring back if only he tried. He's still Reb, but...something. I don't know what.

We walk for a long time. We always do. I guess we're looking for food. No luck. When we go to sleep at night, we're still hungry. So hungry.

**Jiminy Frank, District 8**

I feel so isolated. Flute has latched on to Wrianin, who never says a word. Aramis never liked me. It's scary. What if something happened to me and they never even noticed, too wrapped up in their own despair? I don't _really_ think that could happen, but my mind is conjuring up worst-case scenarios like mad. I don't blame it. I've taken just about all I can without a breakdown...

Wait, I did have a breakdown. I shake my head sluggishly. I can't even remember anymore. My head is swimming and I'm so distracted by everything.

I think I'm starving. We can't have much longer. It's eat, now, or die. It's looking like it may be the second one. No! I have to think through this more. There must be some way to save my friends and me. Maybe if my heart would stop beating so loudly I could focus for a second and figure it out!

Then I'm distracted by something more immediate. Narcis Aramis. And he's got a knife.

**A/N**- Don't worry. The "clearance level 8" thing will be explained with time.

**Surviving Contestants**

District 1: None

District 2: Flute French (I don't _really_ need to explain this one, right?)

District 3: None

District 4: None

District 5: None

District 6: Wrianin Abro (Ree-anne-in Ah-bro)

District 7: None

District 8: Jiminy Frank (Jim-in-ee Fraynk)

District 9: None

Distict 10: Narcis Aramis (Nawr-siss Air-uh-miss)

District 11: None

Distict 12: None


	20. Strength

**Chapter Twenty**

**Wrianin Abro, District 6**

No. No, this can't be happening. My friends are not going to die, especially not at the hands of someone who was supposed to be one of those friends. It will not happen. It just won't. I won't let it.

I feel detached. I have no emotion. All that matters is that one thought. That determination. I don't care about it. It's just a certainty. The sky is blue. Narcis isn't going to kill Flute and Jiminy. Yeah. So what?

It seems like time has been changed. I hear Jiminy's shout of alarm. And it sounds perfectly normal. It's loud, short, and makes my spine shiver. But everything I see seems to be moving slow motion. Narcis is pulling out the knife like he's a dancer, with a slowness that nobody would use in real life. But it's smooth and graceful. A dancer.

I see Flute's eyes and mouth widen with perfect synchronization. Her hands clamp onto my arm abruptly, but her fingers move very slowly, a delayed reaction. I can feel it, but I can't see it yet.

Jiminy is still now; frozen. Like his scream has sapped all of his life and he's just a stain on the fabric of space-time now. He's really frozen in fear, but my mind doesn't get that. Actually, it's not getting much of anything from this scene. I know what's happening, sure. Narcis is going to attack. But I still have that emotionless calm. This isn't upsetting or dangerous; it just is.

The best thing is I know that I can fix this. I'm already doing it, in fact. I can feel my arm ripping out of Flute's grip. I can feel the wind on my face as I lunge forward. I can hear my own angry bellow. Huh. That's weird. Why would I be angry? There's nothing to be angry about, right?

I can hear Flute's answering shriek and feel her hands grabbing the back of my shirt as my sword swings forward. I feel the fabric rip out of her fingers, with a force that must have hurt her a lot.

I feel the meaty thud as my sword's blade collides with the side of Narcis' neck. I feel the heat of Red's blood as it splatters against my face. I feel the sudden lightness of the blade when it goes through the other side of his neck. I hear the thud when his severed head hits the ground like a ball.

I feel my arm swing down again and again. It doesn't matter that his head has rolled away, my semi-conscious mind orders me to make sure that he's really dead, that he's never going to hurt us. So that means I have to make sure he's missing more than his head. I need to protect us. So Aramis needs to die.

All of a sudden my twisted perspective drops away from my eyes, and then everything moves so fast.

All the emotions, the anger, the fear, the explosion of everything that's been hanging over my head, hits me like that. After the twilight peace of my slow world it's all too much. My sword- oh no, my bloody sword -hits the ground as my hand releases it mid swing. Flute's screams and tears hit my ears too hard. I just can't think. It hurts now, all the sensations. Even Jiminy's stunned silence stabs me inside somehow. I can't sport through all of this, so I collapse to my knees under sensory overload.

Flute's unintelligible screams are first on my mind because I can't quite shut them out. She's screaming in fear. I can't let Flute be scared, my mind insists in a sluggish way. I hold out a hand and she stumbles back. I realize, like a kick in the stomach, that what Sneak's scared of is me.

I kneel hard. I'd struggled up to help Flute and I'd been horribly rejected. Part of me is angry. Part of me wants to grab Sneak by the shoulders, shake her, and yell that I was trying to protect her and Jiminy. Part of me understands. What have I done? I told myself I wouldn't kill, that I wouldn't play by the Capitol's rules. Even when Drai had a knife to Flute's throat I hadn't given in. Maybe I should have. But now…I lost it. And I killed him.

The Capitol's won. They've broken me. I've killed before, in firefights, but this is different. I think. I don't know what counts as crime anymore, so I don't know if this is murder. Maybe this is all eclipsed by the Capitol's greater crime of these Hunger Games. But I don't know anymore, I just don't know.

I cover my face with my hands. Flute is hiding behind Jiminy, still sobbing. She tried to stop me, I remember. Sparky is standing, mouth open in horror. He can't believe this is happening either.

A wave of hunger hits my stomach. I don't even get a break from feeling like I'm starving to death. When it rains, it pours.

Flute French, District 2

My mind is kicking desperately against what just happened, trying to shove it back into my mind, to make it not real. It's not working.

Wrianin killed him. Wrianin. He wouldn't do something like this, would he? I imagined it all. But then who killed Narcis? Not me, not Jiminy. Not himself for sure. That only leaves Wrianin.

I'm not sure if I feel so much hate for the act itself (Narcis was trying to kill us) or the fact that Wrianin could do something like that. That he could lose it, kill, and keep stabbing the body and…

I don't know what's happening. We're all dissolving. Wrianin's gone. He must be. He wouldn't have let that happen if he wasn't. I tried to pull him back out of himself but he's gone now. All the way gone. And what's taken him away is inside of his body now and it killed Narcis. Yes. That makes perfect sense. I'll believe anything except that Wrianin killed somebody. No. That can't be true. It makes me hurt deep inside just thinking about it. So I'll shove it into the back of my mind and never look at Wrianin. I can't look at him because if I do I may see my Reb in his eyes and that will mean that this is real and he's a killer and- and- no!

I bury my face against Jiminy's back and sob in fear and grief and adrenaline. I can't think of any other way to make all of this emotion stop. I need to get rid of it all, throw it away. In tears. Jiminy's no help; he's stiff as stone. I can't turn to this one of my adopted brothers either. They're both gone. For a while, anyway.

Wrianin stumbles toward me, and I shriek. What if something happens? What if Wrianin or not-Wrianin loses it again? He might…oh no. No, no, no. How can I think that? I'm a traitor! I'm a worthless little traitor.

I see the pain in Reb's eyes and he falls to his knees. I hate the flare of terror in my own heart, but I can't make it stop. It won't go away. The tears aren't stopping either. I wish they would now. But they're not mine to control anymore. Jiminy's come unfrozen. Reb's on his knees, looking empty. Sparky grabs me and pulls me back a bit, picking me up like a little girl, arms around the underside of my legs at the knee. I like this much better. It's nicer to pretend I'm six years old again. It's so much easier to cry that way. Jiminy's still silent, but his face is intense, because it shows no emotion. You can just see how every feeling he has is canceling out some other feeling while fighting for control against a third one which is masking another and it goes on and on and on. You know how, if you shine all the colors on the same spot, their light will combine to make black light? Jiminy's face is black light right now, it shows everything but at the same time many would mistake it as nothing.

He carries me a few paces away and sits down hard to let me cry. I bury my face against his neck. He doesn't rub my back or try to quiet me, he just lets me cry. I don't know if he can manage any comfort right now. What happened has hurt all of us down deep. I don't think we're willing to admit it to one another yet, but we've lost something.

We all still love each other in an unshakable way, but we've lost a different kind of love. We've lost whatever let us joke and talk of stars under the night sky. We've lost the childish joy that gave us nicknames. Yes. It's childish. We're children. We were. Maybe we're not anymore. That would explain why my joy has gone.

I wish I was still little. I wish I was six at my friend's sister's wedding again. I wish I was wearing my soft pink dress with the lacy white petticoats underneath. I wish my blond hair was in two pigtails the way my mother liked it. I wish I was small enough to ride on my dad like a pony the way he let me when I was little. I wish a lot of things, none of which I am ever going to get. 

_Day thirty-seven._

_Day thirty-eight._

_Day thirty-nine._

**Jiminy Frank, District 6**

I'm making half-hearted small talk again, but it's useless. The others give me one-word answers if anything. I can't deal with this. We're not dying, but we're alone even among our friends. We need each other now more than ever, but Flute won't look Reb in the eyes and Wrianin can barely make himself get up and move around. And I'm an empty shell. I may be fighting this losing battle, to survive, to bring my friends back, but on the inside I've given up.

I imagine my dad, shouting at the screen and pleading with me to fight. I imagine my stepmom's tears as she begs him to not be so angry. My father is a complicated man. He's almost always both angry and despairing when he's faced with adversity. But I doubt even my dad could stand this.

I stroke Flute's head as she stares, empty and emotionless, at the fire. She spends most of her time crying now. I hate this. How we're spending our last days in grief and pain. But we can't shake it off. Ever since Eulkichu and Disha's deaths this gloom has hung above our heads and now we're running out of time to get rid of it.

"Let's go." I mutter, pulling Sneak to her feet.

"Okay." Wrianin croaks, stumbling to his feet painfully.

We are packing up camp, a familiar enough chore now that we do it without even thinking about it. I'm just shouldering my pack when I hear a small moan of frustration.

"Jiminy, I can't- I can't lift it anymore." Sneak says. My hands clench into fists.

"Okay. I'll get it." I say casually, trying not to let the fear into my voice. She couldn't even lift it. We're out of food and we're out of strength. We're dead. 

_Day thirty-eight._

I rise myself groggily from the bed, not letting myself yawn. It hurts now, everything hurts.

I decide to wake the others up. We need food. But maybe it's more because it's just our habit to wake up and look for food. I don't know if we believe we'll find it anymore.

I shake Reb awake easily. He hasn't been sleeping very well.

Sneak's different. I put my hand on her shoulder and whisper, "Hey Sneak, time to get up." A hoarse whisper is the best I can manage at the moment. Maybe the best I'll ever be able to manage again.

"Uuuuuhhh…" She moans. After another moment of shaking and whispered pleas to get up, she starts pushing herself up. And she collapses.

"I…can't. I…It hurts." She whimpers. Panic slams into my stomach. I grab Flute in my arms and struggle to my feet. I'm weakened by hunger and exhaustion, so I'm alarmed to find that I can lift her with ease. She's wasted away to almost nothing. This makes the danger real. Flute is dying, right here, right now, in my arms. I can't let this happen.

"Wrianin!" I shout. He takes one look at Flute and he understands. We head off as fast as we possibly can, switching off carrying Sneak when the other tires. We need to find food or we're going to lose her. She looks likes she's barely here, tears rolling absently down her cheeks, her eyes vacant and usually closed, her arms flopping limply. She's almost done here.

I'm seized by the desperate, selfish need to have her here. I sprint off through the trees, but I trip over a root I couldn't see in the gathering dark and fall face first on the ground. I howl in frustration, pounding my fists against the ground before I collapse in tears. It's getting dark. We can't see anything, there's no sign of food, and Sneak's not going to live to see tomorrow.

"Jiminy." Wrianin croaks. I stumble back and my stomach drops. Her eyes are fluttering. She can't keep them open. Her breath is ragged and rips from her throat with a painful noise.

"No. No." I mutter, desperately.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Wrianin moans, holding her tight against his chest. She looks limp and fragile like a doll. Tears edge out of Wrianin's eyes. He's given up. Or at least, he understands that hoping is pointless.

I take Flute's hand carefully. She looks so breakable. I feel the pulse in her wrist, wondering if each one is going to be her last. How could it? How could it not? How could Flute, who feels like my sister, leave? How could I want her to stay here? How could I be so jealous as to want her to keep suffering like she is now?

Flute's eyes slip closed and her breath huffs out in a rush. Her last breath.

Wrianin is bent over by grief, tears rushing harder. I lean forward, rocked with sobs, rubbing her hand against my face. I can't explain this pain to you. There's no word for it.

"Flute French."

Her face disappears.

Flute is gone forever. She died, and she died alone. She died crying, alienated, uncomforted. I look up and lock eyes with the only other person alive in this arena.

I grab Wrianin's hand and we squeeze. Not the gentle, reassuring squeeze we might have given Flute before, when she was scared. This is strong, a covenant. Whatever happened, to Narcis, to Flute, to all the others, we will not let it divide us. We have made our reparations.

Flute is gone. She died alone. But not us. No matter how much pain we survive, we will not be broken. We will hold on to each other, to the end.

**Surviving Contestants**

District 1: None

District 2: None

District 3: None

District 4: None

District 5: None

District 6: Wrianin Abro (Ree-anne-in Ah-bro)

District 7: None

District 8: Jiminy Frank (Jim-in-ee Fraynk)

District 9: None

Distict 10: None

District 11: None

Distict 12: None


	21. Finale

**A/N**- A huge thank you to you all for reading and sticking with me. As the first Hunger Games draws to a close I want to announce I will be covering post Games events. I hope you'll ride this all out to the end. I love you guys. And now a thank you to someone else I love: LoveTheBoyWithTheBread, my beta and friend.

**Chapter 21**

**Wrianin Abro, District 6**

I've failed them. I've failed them all. I killed them by holding them back, as sure as if I'd held a gun to their heads.

I made them suffer. If they'd all died like Drai Brister, a quick knife, it might have felt different. I could have felt fire in my chest, vengeful anger. Instead that slow, crawling guilt has taken over. It coils and twists in my gut, making me writhe inside. It's all I can do not to fall down and convulse where I stand. Because they didn't die quickly. They starved, hunger ripping further into them every day. All so that they'd live by my ideals.

I destroyed all of them. Not just the dangerous ones. Not the ones who hated me. But I killed them too. I killed Flute, who loved me until she died hating me. I killed Aramis, who always hated me. I killed Fenn Zete who was always able to stay in the middle, everyone's friend. By surviving to this point, I've killed everyone who hasn't.

You may say it's not my fault. You may say it is. But when it comes down to it, it doesn't matter whose fault it is. What matters is the deaths. All those deaths. The twenty-two children who died. You can sit and comfort or point the finger, but it won't make any difference.

The past is in the past. And it hurts just as much there as it does afterwards.

I wanted to protect them. I only meant to help them. And now they're dead. Tears pulse down my face, pooling against the fingers pressed against my face.

What's happened to me? I guess I've just felt too much death. I may not have died myself yet, but death has become a part of me. Before now death was something mysterious. You just…died. It was this intangible blackness. But now it's concrete. I have seen many types of death. I've seen blood, starvation, humans melted horrifically at the hands of acid. I have caused death. I've held a girl as she let go of her last breath. And now I sit here, knowing that Jiminy or I will have to die for the other to live.

Of course, it's going to be me. I'll make sure of that, one way or the other. Sparky isn't going to like it, but it doesn't make any difference. I will never be able to live again with my memories of theses "Games" hanging over my head. Really, killing my body is just the last step in completing my death. A step that I want completed. Really, if he lets me be the one to die, he's paying me a kindness.

He lets me sob. There's no reason to act strong anymore. Neither of us do. Jiminy just sits and looks completely defeated. I could never do that. I'm a very expressive guy. I need to let off emotion somehow, whether it's cracking jokes or this new concept of crying. It's not something I'd ever thought of trying before. When I was in the rebellion we weren't allowed. Actually, I take that back. We _could_. There was no rule against it. It just felt wrong, I guess. I've decided that I'm going to break down here, though. I've lost everything and everyone. I think I've earned myself a good cry.

I've never realized how cleansing a cry is. Maybe the water from our eyes is figurative as well as a physical reaction to sorrow. Maybe the tears symbolize a washing clean of our selves. That's certainly how it feels. Maybe the wounds aren't healing, but they are being soothed in some subtle way.

Once tears stop, I'll have the emotion to spare on action. Once I stop crying, I can decide how best to…get Sparky home. It feels better that way, thinking of it as helping him rather than killing me. I guess it feels like reparation for the other deaths, a nobleness that's symbolic at best now.

I wonder how Jiminy will take it when it happens. He'll have a hard time with it, I'm sure. And so will Mom. She came to see me before I was taken away. She was so sure I was going to win. I could have done it, if I'd really wanted to. But that's just not me. I think Mom'll understand that, even though it'll be hard for her to accept.

I think I'll just stab myself. It will be fast that way. It'll hurt like heck for a minute though. Man, Jiminy's going to be mad. He's going to flip.

I have this weird disconnected feeling as I plan my own death. It's like I'm deciding what shirt to wear. Blue or red? Knife or noose? Maybe this is some kind of screwy defense mechanism.

It's gotten dark now. I've long since stopped crying. The anthem disrupts my silent thoughts of suicide, with its blare seeming too ceremonial and grand for the two broken boys left in this arena. There are no faces. There will never be another face. When the next one of us dies this will all be over, but for now they keep playing the anthem, just to insult us.

Let's make this the last one. I draw my knife, hold it out, and stab at my own chest.

**Jiminy Frank, District 8**

I see what he's going to do a split second before he stabs himself. And there is no way I'm going to watch that.

I lunge myself at him almost comically, smashing into the arm that's about to stab into his chest. Of course, it's not really the _arm_ that's worrisome. That'd be the knife.

He's surprised by my attack. Apparently me actually caring wasn't part of his suicide plan. But I'm lucky. If he'd been expecting me to fight back it would have been a lot harder. Reb's stronger than I am. The element of surprise is all I have going for me.

I rip the knife out of his hand and throw it off into the woods while Wrianin gawks at me, wide eyed and slack jawed. That idiot appears to have been thrown off by the failure of his attempted martyrdom. Isn't that a shame.

"What do you think you're _doing_?" I shout in his face.

"I- I was…going to get you home." He stutters in confusion.

I let off a stream of unimaginative but satisfying curses that I won't go into in detail before bellowing, "Why would you do something so indescribably idiotic?"

"B-because I wanted to get you h-"

"Well, forget about it, Wrianin! Just forget about it! I'm not going to let you kill yourself! I don't care how much you want to play the martyr, just forget about it! And if you ever try something like that again, _I'll_ kill _my_self and they can forget about a winner for these stupid Games! Got it?"

"But-"

"No! No buts! You think you're helping me when you kill yourself to let me survive but you're not. I couldn't deal with knowing you did that, okay? I can't choose my life over yours. If you die before me then there's nothing I can do about it. But it better not be on purpose. You deserve it just as much as I do so shut up and sit down!"

He'd only just climbed to his feet, still looking flabbergasted, and he sits down with a bump.

"You listen up. We're going to get one thing straight right here. I want you to win, you want me to win. Since one of us has to live, we're just going to let it happen. I mean it, Wrianin. Even if you succeed in another stupid attempt to knock yourself off, I _swear_ I will kill myself."

Reb seems to have lost the ability to speak. Apparently he's not used to me being forceful. Well, he better get used to it. 'Cause I am serious. Dead serious.

"You better promise me, Reb. Or I'm going to knife myself right now."

"_What?_" He exclaims, still mostly in a daze.

"You heard me!" I bark, pointing the knife at myself.

"Okay! I- I promise!" He exclaims, waving his hands desperately.

"Good." I growl.

I sit down with a bump. I glare at the knife blade for a while before I notice Wrianin watching me.

"What?" I snap. "You started it."

Silence stretches till we decide to go to bed. I catch Reb's gaze. He looks defeated.

"I'm sorry, okay? I just wouldn't be able to deal with it if you killed yourself to save me. I'd feel like I'd knifed my best friend. If something happens and you die first, maybe I won't feel like such a murderer." I apologize.

It's the strangest thing I've ever seen. The two of us fighting about who gets to be the one to die. It's ridiculous. But it's the truth.

_Day thirty-nine._

_Day forty._

_Day forty-one._

I can barely make my feet move. We found a patch of mint yesterday, but it's done nothing to fend off starvation.

"Let's get moving." Wrianin wheezes.

"Alright." I agree, forcing a normal tone. I stagger to my feet and fumble for my sleeping bag. I can't make my fingers close tightly enough to grip the strap and I give up.

"Wrianin. I can't get it." I mutter, clutching my shaking hands where he can't see them.

He stares at the pack for a moment, then shakes his head. "Just…leave it. We're not going to need it for much longer." He says, his vacant eyes showing that he's lost in thanatopsis.

He sets off slowly, leaving his pack as well. There seems to be some symbolism to this act, as well as us just being too starved to carry them anymore. Yes, the symbolism's there somewhere, but I can't quite pin it down.

I put my hand on Reb's shoulder and he wraps his arm over mine. We make our way off together, slowly, as we struggle to keep ourselves awake. If we go to sleep now, we'll probably decide that it's not worth getting up.

"I feel like we should be having a heart to heart on our last day or something." Wrianin huffs, half joking and half serious.

"I don't know what there is to say." I answer. "We've lived through more than anyone in Panem. Together. I think that's enough."

"Maybe. I still just feel that one of us ought to reveal some deep, meaningful moral message to last through the ages or something."

I chuckle. "If I think of something, you'll be the first to know, I promise."

"Dang right I will be." He shoots back. We hobble in silence for a moment, my head spinning so hard I'm sure we're staggering around like a pair of drunks.

"Y'know, war never stunk this much." Reb muses.

"What?" I laugh shortly. "Why not?"

"When I was…fighting in the rebellion, I knew there was always another guy waiting behind me. Even during the occasional times when I thought I was going to bleed out, I knew that someone else would be there to keep fighting. But here…I'm fighting for no cause. There's never going to be anyone else. If I gave up now that'd be it. I don't even know why I'm still fighting this. Maybe just because I don't know how to do anything else anymore."

"Is that enough of a speech for you?" I puff.

He shakes his head, a bad move that sends the both of us staggering.

"Nope it- didn't feel quite right." He grunts. We lose our balance and fall to the ground painfully. Then again, everything is painful lately.

Reb groans and lifts himself to his knees. He sways for a moment and tries to stand, but gravity and the fact that the forest seems to have been set to "tumble" knocks him back over.

"C'mon." I groan. "C'mon. We- we gotta go." I fight my nausea and somehow manage to stand up. I grab Wrianin by the shoulders and pull heavily. It's just enough to make him open his eyes and try to stand up again. We amble painfully through the forest. Each step is more difficult than the one before it. I can't say how long it is before Reb loses his balance again and we're dragged to the floor.

"I'm sorry." He moans. "I just can't."

"Reb, get up. We need food." I gasp. His face a few feet away from me is blurry and stretching.

"I…Don't make me get up." He groans.

Stubbornly, I grab his arms and try to pull him along, but it's no good. Maybe…maybe if I take a nap it'll be easier in the morning…

_Day forty-two._

I had no idea the world could look so funny. I can't see straight. Or walk straight. I don't even know how I managed to get myself up this morning. After that I somehow coaxed Reb the zombie to his feet and now I'm pulling him along. My stomach feels like somebody tried to divide by zero inside of it or something.

I can feel it about to happen just before Reb collapses. "Stay with me!" My voice sounds funny. He rights his large frame, but he's soon sagging over again. "C'mon, Reb!" My own vision is starting to go black. He forces himself to careen the other way, but he overcompensates and loses his footing.

"Reb! Get up, please. I can't carry you." I beg. His only response is a moan. I grab his arm and pull. It's sad how little this mustering of all my strength even does.

I lose my grip and fall onto my butt. With a moan, I turn and stumble off. _Look for food_. That directive is ingrained in my memory. So now my body does it almost without asking me.

I hope you're happy. All of you people out there who watched us die, and all of you who condemned us here. We're dead. Even Wrianin and I will be gone soon. And what have you accomplished? Twenty-three dead children. Actually, for all intents and purposes, you might as well throw in the victor too. Twenty-_four_ dead children. Have you thwarted a rebellion? Have you freed yourself from oppression? What's the point of this?

My legs finally lose the ability to hold me up and I crash to the forest floor.

Why did you need to do this? Did some time traveler come back to warn you that twenty-four children ages twelve through eighteen were going to overthrow you? Is there any reason at all? Please, I truly want to know. Maybe it'll help me make sense of this.

My vision is almost gone. But as I force my head up, I see an impossible vision. An apple tree. Right in front of me is survival. I think I call Reb's name. I think I get to my knees and crawl before I collapse again. But my eyes are going dark now, only a few scarce feet from salvation.

_Neither Jiminy Frank nor Wrianin Abro is in sufficient state to narrate their Hunger Games experience. I shall complete the narrative for you. Thank you for your attention._

Jiminy Frank's mind swam away into a dark sea at the very foot of the tree whose fruit could have saved him. He and Wrianin Abro lay in silence that stretched, deathly, until a heart stopped.

Applause burst through speakers held by an invisible hovercraft. The loud noise seemed wrong, like it didn't belong in the silent forest where two boys sprawled.

"Congratulations to the winner of the Hunger Games!" Boomed an excited Capitol voice.

"Everyone give a hand tooooooooo…" He let the moment stretch out for maximum suspense.

"WRIANIN ABRO OF DISTRICT 6!"

**FIRST HUNGER GAMES CONCLUDED. VICTOR: WRIANIN ABRO, AGE EIGHTEEN, DISTRICT 6**


	22. The President's Little Headache

**Chapter 22**

Azin Hellwick's hand slammed against the cold tabletop, and everyone surrounding the conference table winced.

"What are we going to do about this?" The president screamed. "Because we can't have a freedom fighter running around a champion, do you hear me? So somebody better come up with something fast before I lose my temper and pull the plug on that life support machine!"

No one said anything, afraid that the president might forget that she'd asked for ideas and turn her terrible temper on them. Knowing Azin Hellwick, it was more than likely. With a growl the president rocked to her feet and began to pace the room like a caged muttation. She stalked to the glass wall that separated the conference room from the cutting edge hospital room on the other side. Medical technicians swarmed around Wrianin Abro like the paparazzi around a movie star. Of course the Capitol couldn't afford to lose Abro now, after they'd made such a big deal about the winner of the Hunger Games. But now Hellwick seemed to be changing her mind about that.

"Well?" She whispered dangerously. "Anyone want to save this boy's life? Or shall I arrange a tragic accident for Panem's rebel champion? If you do, please speak up now, because I'm afraid my temper's running short." Azin turned to broodingly survey the group of people who sat, half cowering and half puffed up with the fact that they were important enough to be included as part of the meeting, before her. They were a surprising mix, many of who seemed to be odd choices for a high-level political conference. There was a scruffy, nervous looking woman who had been a chief informant back in the rebellion. There was an eccentrically altered man who was an expert political scientist whose main function was deciding how the public would react to the loss of their little celebrity and if it was worth the ramifications to kill him. There were the two announcers, Erasaziel and Tennem. Whether or not the president gave the order to terminate Wrianin Abro, they would be on the front line, feeding opinions to and manipulating the audience. If they played their cards right, the viewers would feel whatever Sazi and Flore wanted them to. Then there were the real political bigwigs and the president's puppet cabinet. It was a big table.

"Madame President," began a nervous man, the mayor of District 6, "I- I think…removing Mr. Abro would be a mistake. The, umm, the whole District's behind him. If something were to happen now, there'd be trouble. Maybe even riots. Not the kind of energy we need right now. I'm sure they'd turn him into some kind of martyred face of the rebellion."

"But if we let him live, what's to stop him from becoming an active face of the rebellion? You can't honestly expect him to just start loving the Capitol. As long as he's alive, he'll harbor hate." Hellwick snapped.

"Well, yes ma'am. There's- there's certainly too much of that already at the moment. In the Districts, I mean. But if he dies, it's not going to really fix the problem, Mrs. President. There are still too many dissidents to stamp out the rebellion with just his death. It'd be symbolic at best, ma'am. All- all it'd do would be to stir up the people." The nervous mayor concluded.

The political scientist stood, his lime green and purple wig slipping slightly. "The people have gotten rather attached to Mr. Abro. I believe even the Capitol citizens would be upset at his loss. However, ma'am, they are a fickle audience. They'd forget and move on very quickly. It would be the Districts who would pose the greatest and longest standing threat. If you choose to…eliminate Wrianin Abro you must be prepared to use strong methods to control the Districts."

The president nodded stiffly, implying that the two men were dismissed.

"Honestly, I don't see how there's any question about this at all." Blared a third man. He was a vicious old codger, one of the men who'd first started pitching the Hunger Games as a possible form of punishment. Of course he was eager to see his creation work at 100% efficiency, more than even he had ever hoped to achieve. "All that matters is protecting Panem from the scum that adhere to those dangerous radical beliefs. If he could hinder that mission, then he must be dealt with."

"Ideally, yes." Spoke up a politician. "Unfortunately I think our interference would be suspected."

"What does it matter?" The vicious man spoke up. They've just been beaten into the ground once. Even the Districts wouldn't be stupid enough to try anything again."

"Why not?" Another man put in. "It's not like they have anything to lose."

"If they do, can't we just kill them? It's not like they can defend themselves." Cooed a woman who had obviously had her mouth operated on to give her a more sonorous voice.

"Of course not!" Squeaked a fat man. "Who'll farm? Who will mine coal? We need them alive to serve us!"

Conversations exploded throughout the room. People with opposite views screamed at each other, and the undecided were bowled over by the sheer number of people trying to convert them to their opinion. While the lesser ones argued amongst themselves the president exited the conference room, her face dark but blank.

"I don't see what the fuss is all about." Chuffed Tennem Flore. "He earned this. It's only fair that we give it to him."

"But he was a rebel, Tennem!" Erasaziel Toonce twittered. "How can we award people like him?"

"He's already going to be upset about his friends' deaths." Tennem pointed out. "Are you sure that he's not going to be punished enough by just that?"

"Of course not! If he cared enough for them, he'll turn against the Capitol." Erasaziel pleaded earnestly. "Maybe," she whispered, leaning in closer, "he'll even convince some of the Capitol viewers to rebel against the central government!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Sazi! Nothing like that could ever happen." Tennem chided.

Sazi opened her mouth to retort, then stopped. President Hellwick stood over the boy's bed, syringe in hand. The cloud of nurses and doctors were gone. Sazi gave a little hum of nervousness and hurried out the conference door. She hated fighting with Tennem like that, but he'd be over it soon. Surely he would be.

Sazi pushed the door to the hospital room open with a silent swing of its magnetic hinges.

"Azin?" She called feebly.

The president didn't respond. Sazi slowly moved to her cousin's shoulder. She stood beside President Hellwick silently. The moment stretched for a long time as the oblivious politicians' argument went on behind soundproof walls. It seemed ridiculous without sound. A comedy pantomime for a movie.

"So…what's in the syringe?" Sazi muttered lamely.

"Carbonic acid." Hellwick answered her cousin for the first time, lifting the syringe to examine the contents in the light. The long needle glinted, as cold and clinical as the room they stood in. "It will do the job if the job needs doing." The president's eyes caught the shine of the hospital's lights as she moved her head to examine the acid from a new angle.

"Just one quick injection. It wouldn't even require the entire dosage." She whispered, as if she were trying to talk herself into it.

Sazi waited in silence. Her cousin had always been different. Instead of her mind clouding with years of superficiality it had sharpened. The qualities of a President of Panem were specific. They needed unhampered intelligence, a way with the citizens, and a ruthless streak. Erasaziel had grown up with Azin Hellwick. Her cousin had always been the black sheep, the odd girl who didn't want plastic surgery or a new wig. Who stared out the window and thought. Her aunt Delva Hellwick had always babbled how she worried about her little girl. But look where all those, "odd", "worrisome" qualities had gotten her. The presidency of Panem.

"I don't think I heard your opinion on the Abro problem, Erasaziel." Azin said smoothly, not looking at the announcer.

"I'm…not sure, Azin." Murmured Sazi. "I mean, he's dangerous. But at the same time, we are people of our word. Strict perhaps, but I have never known the Capitol to deceive."

Azin chuckled softly. "There are many things you do not know, cousin. The Capitol lies, when it serves them."

"I suppose. But can we fail the public so far as to let their champion die? He…he earned it." She echoed Tennem reluctantly.

President Hellwick hummed a few bars of an anonymous song; it could have been a marriage hymn or a funeral dirge. She stroked the unconscious boy's cheek gently with the syringe.

"How can we stop him from bringing everything to the ground?" Azin said with a soft brightness that would have made most people's skin crawl.

Sazi blinked, unaffected by her cousin's tone. "I don't know, Azin. Do you want to leave him alive?"

"Subdued he's almost as useful to us as he is fighting to the rebels. If we can make him a symbol, if we can make him defer to us, we can show them that everything is truly done. But how?" Azin leaned over the bed and examined his gaunt face. Sazi suddenly felt unwanted, like she was intruding on something inherently private to the president and her prospective victim.

"I wish I understood the things that pass through your mind." President Hellwick whispered. "What makes you strong enough to rebel? Maybe if I knew I could stamp it out. You wouldn't care to tell me, would you?" Of course the unconscious boy gave no response.

"I thought not." She murmured, beginning to circle the room, still talking to Wrianin, and perhaps to herself.

"Perhaps you'd rather die? In which case I certainly couldn't destroy you. Or maybe I could. Perhaps we could compromise. Maybe it would be better to let you live, broken. You are, aren't you? You blame yourself, I'm sure. You're too giving. Just like that rebel mentor of yours, Aror. But don't be too proud of that. We got a hold of him too. He's been executed. Actually, it was only a few hours before that speech of yours. Terrible timing.

"Maybe you'll want to live. Perhaps two doomed little rebellions weren't enough for you. Don't go getting any feisty little ideas. You're mine now, either way. If you become too much trouble I'll crush you like a twig. You are, you know? Maybe you're bigger than me, but it's not about size. It's about power, Wrianin. You're only a child. You can't stand against something like the Capitol. Not while I'm alive.

"But it really doesn't matter what you want. Because I'm sure both the choices are repulsive to you. Because either way I'm going to break you. The only question is how completely? Maybe I could take your mother. I'm sure that you wouldn't try anything that might put her in danger. Perhaps if I execute ten people every time you displease me. That would cause you intense guilt, I'm sure."

The president circled slowly back to the hospital bed. She stroked his hand with all the loving care of a poisonous snake. To be honest, a snake would have been better. At least a snake was more afraid of you than you were of it.

"I wish I understood you, Mr. Abro." Azin whispered. A strange emotion crossing her eyes. It looked like wistful sadness, of some inhuman kind. She had no love for the boy, only a wish to crack him open and rip out his secrets. There was a violent curiosity. Why did this boy ever think he could stand against the Capitol? What gave him that strength? It needed to be bred out of the District stock. Their pack animals, subhuman servants, needed breaking. If this boy had been one of the strongest, the bravest, then perhaps he held the perfect answer inside of him somewhere.

"I wish there was some way to keep you here, but under my control. I'm afraid I don't see it yet. Tell me how, Mr. Abro. So I won't have to kill you. Not that you'd feel pain. You've earned at least a painless death. Your friends' pain has guaranteed that. Do you feel grateful, Abro? That their pain will prevent your own? No, I'm sure you don't. You've such a bleeding heart that you can't accept that you're not the only one who can make sacrifices. I'm afraid all of you martyr types miss something: sacrifices are meaningless. If you're not around to enjoy whatever you cared so much to save, what is the point? If one death must happen, to save another is symbolic. The numbers are the same. A great man named Joseph Stalin once said 'One death is a tragedy. One million deaths is a statistic.' If twenty-three are dead, then you must be the tragedy.

"I'm afraid that I'll have to kill you. You just have too many dangerous thoughts in your head."

Sazi sucked in her breath, startled by the sudden and violent decision her cousin had made.

Azin wiped the needle down with a disinfectant cloth, the touch of irony making the corner of her mouth quirk. "Too many dangerous thoughts." She brought the syringe toward his arm. And stopped. "In your head." She murmured thoughtfully. A smile slowly spread across her face, catlike, and she put the syringe down. Sazi let out a huff of breath she hadn't realized she'd even been holding.

"Come, Erasaziel. I believe we're needed back in the conference room. Quickly, before those monkeys start to strangle each other."

Sazi raised a penciled-on eyebrow. Azin had that cordiality to her, that familiar glow of having an idea of which she was perfectly fond. If Azin was ready to act, Sazi was more than ready to help. Her cousin had the best ideas.

Azin and Sazi entered, heels clicking in a perky but businesslike way across the cold floor. Everyone went quiet. Sazi suddenly felt very uncomfortable and sat down next to Tennem. She felt eyes on her briefly, before Azin began to speak. She knew what they were thinking. While the audience may have loved her, the politicians were jealous. They insisted that the only reason she was an announcer was her relationship to Azin Hellwick. But they were just jealous, she reminded herself loftily. Yes, Azin had helped bring her to the attention of the hiring agency. But she had talent. No interviewer or newscaster thought on his or her feet like Erasaziel Toonce. She deserved this job. She had gotten the job because she had talent. Right?

"Alright everyone. Settle down." Ordered President Hellwick, back in control. Everyone settled down, for fear of having their heads settle down somewhere besides their necks if they didn't. The various diatribes that Hellwick had interrupted still hummed in the air like campfire smoke.

"The decision has been made. Wrianin Abro will not be executed."

The frowns on a large number of faces deepened and smarmy smirks spread across others.

"However, he will be severely punished. This punishment will also serve to hinder his ability to cause any trouble." She moved with comfort. She was in her element now; she was in control. Nobody did total control quite the way Azin Hellwick did. "I plan to have the doctors operate on Wrianin Abro's brain."

A nervous murmuring rose up. That sounded a bit dangerous.

President Hellwick waved her hands for silence, in a lovely mood now that she had taken hold of the situation with both hands and planned to rectify things. "Quiet! Nothing too serious, I assure you. Only enough to make sure he's left with a terrible pounding headache for the rest of his life. It should be a simple matter. If it would be too dangerous to operate on his brain directly, we can merely attach an electrical implant. This should serve to distract him enough that he can't fight any more rebellions for a while."

The muttering continued as the president sat down easily and folded her hands on the table.

"Now there's a simple matter of next year's Hunger Games."

All eyes turned at once to the president.

A hint of characteristic bad temper colored the glint of her eyes. "As I'm sure you all remember, things slowed down quite a bit toward the end of the Games. There were few deaths, long spaces in between, and they all starved. It was, quite frankly, boring. We can't let things continue like that next year. I propose a panel of managers to make sure the Games remain fast-paced and diverse. Will anyone second the motion?

No fewer than four men and women trying to kiss up to the president eagerly seconded the motion, almost before she'd finished speaking.

"These men and women will organize the arena and plant some little surprises for when the pace needs to be increased." The president's voice abruptly lost its joviality and became knife sharp. "I will have…high expectations for these people. Failure will not be tolerated." She became light and self-pleased again. "I make a motion to appoint this position with the title of Gamemaker."

Most of the kissers up were still worried about the ways in which the president would not tolerate failure, so only one of them blurted out "I second the motion!" Right on key. She smiled, hugely pleased with herself, and the rest of the kissers silently cursed themselves for missing a golden opportunity.

"Do I have any volunteers?" The president asked with polite interest.

There was silence at first, then the bloodthirsty man raised his hand with confidence.

"Very well, Mr. Debrown. I will appoint you as head of the new Gamemakers. Any others?"

A few tentative minutes later the president had about six volunteers. Not enough, but a good start.

"Thank you very much." The president said, a wolfish, violent grin spreading across her face. "Now. I believe we have some planning to do for next year. After all, the Hunger Games have only just begun."

**Wrianin Abro, Victor of the First Hunger Games**

I wake up slowly. The first thing I'm greeted by is intense guilt, which makes no sense to me. I'm guilty for waking up? Why? Is that illegal now, or something? 'Cause I sure as heck missed that memo. Then something lands in my ear. It takes a moment for my swimming head to process what the noise is.

It's the beeping of a machine, steady and calm. Then I begin to feel things.

First, my head. It feels like I'm being run over. All the time. It doesn't throb, it's always incredibly painful. As I'm trying to figure out who's trying to kill my brain, I start to become aware of tubes. Lots of tubes. In my arms, mouth, nose. It's…weird, to say the least.

Then realization sets in. Why I feel so guilty. Why I have all these tubes in my body. I lost. I mean, won. I survived. Jiminy's dead. Flute's dead. They're all dead. Except for me.

A hard cry escapes from my mouth. I feel the twist of my stomach as I fully understand that they're all gone. And I'm not.

This can't be right. It's a cruel joke. I should have died before I let anything happen to any of them. I stare at the ceiling open-mouthed. Even though I knew what was happening in the long stretch of time while Jiminy and I were starving, it's so different to see this moment actually come. The enormity of it is too much for words, so I'll stop trying.

I turn my head, trying to move without worsening my headache. I'm taking advantage of this shock and awe to savor my last few moments of life without guilt. As soon as I absorb this the blame will settle on my shoulders, poignant and permanent.

My fault. No. Not _my_ fault. It was the Capitol. But it doesn't make a difference. That's not how guilt works. Guilt knows no reason, only love and loss.

The guiltiness fills me like it's part of me, dissolved into my blood. It's going to be here forever.

The next week consists of slowly eating more and more, beginning to use my body again, and staring at the ceiling as my head swims with guilt and pain. I've asked the doctors. There's nothing they can do for the headache. They say they've done all they could.

Now I'm sitting in a room with _President Hellwick_. Somehow the hate finds room to squeeze in between the pain and the fault.

"You'll watch a recap of the Games, be interviewed, and be returned home. Your mother is waiting at your new house." She concludes. I'm silent.

"Do you have any questions?" There is no emotion of any kind in her voice.

"No." I growl.

"Congratulations, Mr. Abro." She says, a hardness in her smirk.

She's beaten me. Killed my friends and made me her new poster boy for loving the Capitol. She's won, and she knows it.

I do the only thing that comes to mind. I spit on her hand.

Her smile doesn't fade. It remains frozen as she wipes her hand on her pants. "Now, now Mr. Abro. I really wouldn't make this unpleasant if I were you. I'm sure the two of us could become good friends if you'd just get over your little emotional hang ups."

I hate her. More than you will ever know.

"No?" She says, sounding disappointed. She gets up to leave and says without looking at me, "That's alright. I'm sure you'll come around to the idea." I can hear the cruel smile snake its way onto her face. "After all, you have a lifetime."

**A/N**- A clarification, for anyone who's confused. The reason the Gamemakers have not made an appearance to date is because they did not exist.

Now.

Another note. I am proud to be a mod for the Summer 2010 Hunger Games fanfiction awards. We want to find really tiptop stories and give them recognition. However, it's simply not possible for us to read ALL THOSE STORIES on our own, so we need your help! If you know a story that deserves recognition, PM me, LoveTheBoyWithTheBread, Claratrix LeChatham, or Writing2StayHalfSane. Or tell us in a review. Here are the categories we will probably be offering. And yes. There are a lot.

Story Awards

-Best Alternate POV of the 74th Hunger Games

-Best over all one shot

-Best over all chaptered fic

-Best Representation of a previous games

-Best representation of a future games

-Best single poem

-Best multichapter poetry

-Best Katniss/Gale

-Best Katniss/Peeta

-Best nontraditional pairing

-Best submit-your-own-character fic

-Best drabble series

-Saddest story/Best tragedy

-Funniest story/Best parody

Author Awards

-Best overall THG author

-Best THG oneshot author

-Best THG multichapter author

-Best THG poet


	23. Once More

**Chapter 23**

**Wrianin Abro, Victor of the First Hunger Games.**

The applause is deafening. Even if I didn't have this awful headache, it would have been too loud. It makes my head swim in pain with it. I whimper slightly, hesitating before my stylist hisses, "Well, what are you waiting for?" And shoves me out onto the stage.

Everything is too much. The lights are too bright. The audience is too loud. Everyone's too happy. My friends are too dead. And I'm too alive.

People are chanting my name. I'm a hero to them. This is wrong. I want to make them stop, to make them see that twenty-three people have been murdered. But I can't think of anything to say to them. I have no idea how to move them. This has been happening a lot. Words fail me now. Before the Hunger Games, I always had a joke on my tongue, a flippant comment. Now I'd rather pass the day in silence. There's probably not much chance of that with this crowd.

Tsepelia Climian waits to greet me. She's smiling and I can tell she's genuinely glad for me. Maybe that's why she was so good at interviewing us all before the slaughter. She actually cared.

"Congratulations, Mr. Abro. I must admit, I had a hard time deciding whom to root for. But I'm glad you're alive."

I don't answer beyond a sad smile. I can't exactly agree with her on that.

She puts a hand on my shoulder, leading me to a grand throne decked in velvet and gold. Normally it would have seemed regal and lovely, but when I think that it was meant for a murderer all of its finery becomes garish. I sit down tentatively, figuring that's what's expected of me. Then the cheering redoubles as President Hellwick enters carrying a crown. This last show of honor almost knocks me over. They wanted us to kill each other, but they made a crown. They wanted to crown a killer. The macabre feeling is exemplified by the rubies that were obviously inlaid to remind anyone who sees it of blood.

I stare Hellwick down as she processes to my throne, a very convincing smile on her face. I'm sure the public is fooled. She sets the heavy crown on my head with another sincere smile.

"Long live the king, If only Jiminy could see you now." She whispers.

I stand up abruptly and tower over her. I want to wring her pale neck. I want to make her pay for my friends' deaths. But I can't here. I almost wouldn't have time to touch her before I got hit with a tranquilizer dart. But my hands twitch. If she says anything like that about Jiminy or Flute or any of them again, I might not be able to stop myself.

"Sit down, Wrianin. You'll only make a fool of yourself." She hisses.

I very slowly lower myself back into the chair, muscles tight with hate.

"There's a good boy." She mocks and then floats to her seat at the foot of the stage.

"Alright everyone, let's settle down." Soothes Tsepelia. She turns to me with a smile that I hate almost as much as Hellwick's, because she truly means it. She's okay with the fact that I was the one who lived.

"How are you doing, Mr. Abro? You left the arena in pretty bad shape." I can tell she's aware of the way Hellwick provoked me. She might not know what the president said, but she saw my anger, the seething that still lurks under my skin, making my teeth grind and my eyes tighten. She's trying to calm me down. Luckily for her, my head is too distracting for me to feel much of anything but pain for very long.

"Yeah. I did. I'm doing...not too well. I always have a bad headache. It's hard to focus." I answer, trying for a neutral tone. I don't think I quite get it, but I'm also not sure what you'd call the sliver of emotion I let free, so maybe I got close enough.

Tsepelia gives a sympathetic wince. "How awful. And there's nothing they can do for it?"

"There are meds I can take, but nothing that will leave me awake enough to really think hard enough to be interviewed." I answer. "Whenever I want to be lucid enough to get anything done I'll just have to deal with it."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Do you have plans for your life after you return home?"

"Sort of. I've been told I'm getting a new house in a special part of town for people who survive the Hunger Games. I suppose I'll just move in there with my mom. Apparently I'm going to be given enough of a pension that I'll never have to work."

"Tell me about what your life at home was like before."

I shrug. "I lived with my mom. We got on alright."

"What about your father?"

"He died. A long time ago. Years."

"Oh. Yes. Of course. I remember you saying that to Mr. Frank at some point. I'm very sorry." She murmurs sadly.

"Well, it doesn't really matter. It won't bring him back."

The rest of the interview goes along in much the same way. Tsepelia drills me on aspects of my life that no one would have cared about two months ago. Now they're enough to fascinate the audience for almost an hour. After a long Q and A, a television is rolled onstage. For a moment I can't figure out why. Then something that Hellwick said finally hits home. A recap of the Hunger Games. It's not enough that I lived it. Now they're going to make me watch it too. I dig my newly perfected fingernails into the velvet of the chair. No. Not again. Please not again. I can't watch them die again.

The screen lights up. This small T.V. is just for me, its back facing the audience. The same images are projected at two huge screens that hang behind me. The audience lets out a huge cheer as music slips from the speakers and the house lights go down. I try not to throw up in horror and panic.

They start out with innocuous credits. The music feels coiled. It's clearly the beginning of something huge and is just waiting to detonate into its full strength. It begins to play the voice of President Hellwick. It quotes lines from her speech, and images begin to show indistinctly through the black.

"…may the odds be ever in your favor."

The music explodes.

It flashes through the faces of all twenty-four of us, almost too fast to make out our faces. The clips of video keep coming too fast to process. All of a sudden the music freezes, with only a solitary note humming from the violins. The pale and frightened faces of children I don't know stare past the camera, eyes fixed on something behind the audience.

"Wrianin Abro!"

I realize what this is. It's my reaping. All those emotions are over a month old, pale in the face of everything I've suffered at the hands of the Hunger Games. But now they feel so much more potent than before. It's like I'm feeling them all over again for the first time. The memories of everything that has happened to me throughout this whole ordeal are engraved into my mind with crystal clarity.

_I can believe this, oddly enough. You might think I'd be going on about how I _can't _believe what is happening, but I'm not surprised. I've caused too much trouble to be surprised. Somehow I doubt this system is as random as the Capitol has been insisting it is._

I see myself slip through the crowd, stoic. My eyebrows are knitted together, and I refuse to shake the escort's hand. Other than that I show no emotion.

_I'm not really so worried about myself. I've faced death enough that I'm used to it. I am worried about my mom. I can hear her arguing with a Peacekeeper. I'm afraid she's going to get herself hurt._

_I smile at the girl from my District, whose face is tear tracked. Her name is Braedi, I remember. She was called up from the fifteen-year-old section, but she looks much younger. She looks at me helplessly and some not quite physical part of me twinges. How could the Capitol ever want to hurt this little girl? Me, I can see. But not her._

_Not only that, but they want _me_ to hurt this little girl as well. I pull on the hem of my jacket unhappily. Maybe I haven't fully processed the situation after all. I'm pretty sure I ought to be more upset. But all I can do is worry a bit, kind of vaguely. I can't kill any of these kids, obviously. I was different back in the war. Then I was fighting for freedom. I was only trying to secure basic rights and escape from what was effectively slavery. I had every right. But now…if I kill those kids, that's different. That will be wrong._

_But I don't want to die. I don't know how I'll ever make this choice._

Little did I know that that choice was going to be made for me. I looked straight at the cameras as I was walked off stage. They use this shot to segue back into a more intense section of the music.

They show only a brief moment of my goodbyes to my mother, and even that has no audio. I guess they don't think little things like a mother's love for her only son being sent to his death are interesting enough for the audience. Funny. Somehow I'm not surprised.

_I can hardly even keep track of the things that are being said, because we're moving so fast. We have one hour to say anything we chose not to say over eighteen years. Jeez. How do you begin something like that? But we don't have time to think about it so everything starts pouring out at once. In amongst whatever random but somehow strangely important things fall out of our mouths, there are a lot of "I love you"s. Maybe that's what really matters. Some of my friends try to come and say goodbye, but I turn them away. I only want my mom. I hope they understand, but I need this time with her_

They show occasional shots of other kids, but it's mostly just me at this point.

Then I see my friends. I knew it was going to hurt, but I'd never imagined It would be this bad. I'd never imagined that _anything_ could hurt so much.

Flute looks so small, wide-eyed and defiant in a trembly little girl way. It circles the platforms quickly, showing each face. Rock, Tech, Sparky, even Red are all punches in the gut. I look at Hellwick pleadingly. Even she couldn't be cruel enough to make me watch this, could she? But she just smiles in an innocent, pleased way and goes back to watching the recap.

I shrink down into my chair, trying not to hurl. Trying not to cry. Trying not to run screaming off the stage and go bash my brains out to make these memories and this awful headache just go away.

It shows mostly me again, wandering around the forest. Then I find Jiminy. I give up on not crying when I see our first meeting. He hated me so much. I try not to laugh now, in some grief-twisted form of nostalgia. I'm going to miss him more than anyone should ever miss anything. He was like a brother, or something. I don't know if there's a word for the sort of bond I had with any of them.

It shows everything; somehow they compressed weeks of pain into two hours. This is the cruelest punishment yet.

Tsepelia Climian closes with an emotional smile. I'm so dazed I can hardly understand what she's saying. It's not that I'm numb. The pain, both physical and emotional, is there. It's more like, that's all I can feel. The lights go down and I'm escorted off. Good thing. I don't know if I would have been able to do it on my own.

"Did you enjoy yourself, Mr. Abro?"

I don't even look at Hellwick. My torturer will leave faster if I don't.

"You're going home tomorrow. I'll miss you." Her voice drips with sarcasm, but I say nothing.

She suddenly grabs a hold of my arm and whips me around to face her. "Listen, boy. If you ever try anything again, the Hunger Games will seem like a birthday party next to what I'll do to you, understand me?" She hisses. I say nothing.

"I said, do you understand?"

"Yes ma'am." I spit.

"Good." She purrs, "You can be taught. Then again, I expected as much. There is no horse that can't be broken."

"Am I done here?" I growl.

"Yes, Mr. Abro." She says with a smile, "You are completely, irrevocably, done."

**A/N**- I am proud to be a mod for the Summer 2010 Hunger Games fanfiction awards. We want to find really tiptop stories and give them recognition. However, it's simply not possible for us to read ALL THOSE STORIES on our own, so we need your help! If you know a story that deserves recognition, PM me, LoveTheBoyWithTheBread, Claratrix LeChatham, or Writing2StayHalfSane. Or tell us in a review. Here are the categories we will probably be offering. And yes. There are a lot.

Story Awards

-Best Alternate POV of the 74th Hunger Games

-Best over all one shot

-Best over all chaptered fic

-Best Representation of a previous games

-Best representation of a future games

-Best single poem

-Best multichapter poetry

-Best Katniss/Gale

-Best Katniss/Peeta

-Best nontraditional pairing

-Best submit-your-own-character fic

-Best drabble series

-Saddest story/Best tragedy

-Funniest story/Best parody

Author Awards

-Best overall THG author

-Best THG oneshot author

-Best THG multichapter author

-Best THG poet


	24. The End

**A/N**- Wow. We're at the end guys. Pretty amazing, huh? There will be a short index section of two or so chapters that were left out for different reasons, but this is really the last chapter in Wrianin's story. Thank you so much, to everyone who reviewed. There's too many to thank individually here, but I'm thanking each one of you personally in my mind. A couple of people need special mention:

LoveTheBoyWithTheBread, my best and godgoodgood friend.

Kelley A., who went back and reviewed every single chapter when he started this story.

And my parents, who threatened to take away my laptop, but never actually did it.

I hope you'll all join me for Starvation 2.

**Chapter 24**

**Wrianin Abro, Victor of the First Hunger Games.**

Now that Hellwick has said her goodbyes (she did a great job of playing the mother figure, I must say) I've been shipped back to District 6. Every time I think of that woman hate worms its way up in my stomach.

Y'know, I've always hated using that verb. Worms. I'm not a fan of worms. Too slimy. But anyway, I'm saying "worms" now because nothing else seems right. It feels exactly like there's a long worm of hatred, wiggling around in the pit of my gut. Disgusting. But somehow hate is satisfying. Actually, a lot of negative emotions have become satisfying recently. I never used to be one to brood, but now it's sort of become the dark chocolate of my emotions. Bitter and dark, but still enjoyable.

Actually, I've never liked dark chocolate before either.

I'm waving goodbye to the cameras with a big, clearly fake, smile on my face. The President has been making veiled threats almost as much as she's been pretending that we're friends. As much of a force of nature as my mother may be, she still can't take on a battalion of Peacekeepers seizing her for execution. Probably.

Mom. Man, I've missed her. I can only imagine how hard everything must have been for her. I'm sure she was tough as nails about the whole thing though. She always tries to be optimistic. I got my good sense of humor from her. But as much as my mom may act like nothing ever bothers her, she worries. And not just about me. My mom finds it in herself to worry about pretty much everybody. She's the best person I know; she has an incredible amount of love in her heart. I bet she could even find it in her heart to care about Hellwick, if she tried really hard.

I step into the train and my smile melts. I'm not very convincing, I know. But I'm doing my best. Even Hellwick knows that.

I collapse onto the coach with a moan, rubbing my splitting temples. This is the worst migraine in the history of history, I'm sure. I'd bet my new Victor's pension on it. I can barely think.

I feel a tap on my shoulder and one of the silent train attendees holds out a silver platter with a glass of water and a big white pill.

"It's that obvious?" I say ruefully. Her only response is a little quirk of her eyebrows, as if to say, _Well, you _are _groaning and rubbing your temples_.

"I bet it is. Thanks." I take the pill and the glass, downing the pill. Assuming this is for my headache like I thought it was and not some cruel assassination attempt by Hellwick. Actually, I think I'd take them anyway. If anything would make the guilt and pain stop, then it's medicine in my book. The servant motions for me to follow her. With a frown, I stand up, wincing at the way the motion made my already agonized head spin. I can't imagine what she's so determined to show me. None of them approached me without being called on the way here. Not only has she instigated interaction, but she's also communicating. Though still without words, oddly enough.

She leads me into my bedroom. I still don't know what this is all about. I mean, I was in here for the ride to the Capitol from home. It's not like I didn't know where it was. But now she motions me gently to sit down in the comfy chair by the window. I raise an eyebrow for some explanation, but she just shakes her head and motions again. I sit down reluctantly. I wish she'd just tell me what's up.

She hesitantly picks up what appears to be a piece of plastic the size of a large man's hand. Then she taps the screen and it lights up. Obviously more than your typical piece of plastic.

The servant hands it to me, a pained look in her eyes and I glance down at the screen. I see what it is now. It's like an electronic book or magazine. I scan it for a moment, paying attention to my headache more than the words I'm reading. Then I understand what these words mean.

_-in a final act of flushing out the surviving rebels, a number of previously unknown rebellion strongholds were discovered. Most of these strongholds were independent pockets of remaining dissident families. However, one of the compounds discovered held a large number of remaining rebel soldiers. Among the number of low-rank soldiers was platoon leader Aror Hazelbak. _

_Hazelbak had led a small group of guerilla fighters, and is today best known as having been the superior officer of Wrianin Abro, one of the remaining male tributes in the Hunger Games. Albertaz Denagua of the Department of Internal Defense and Enforcement stated that, "We can safely assume that remaining rebel hideouts exist. However, the capture of these soldiers is a huge step forward in repairing the damage these deviants have dealt to our country."_

_The soldiers were arrested. Most of the lower-ranking rebels were sentenced to lifetime servitude. A number of the more violent ones had to be shot for the safety of those around them before they could be tried._

_All thirty-two soldiers were found guilty of high treason against the Capitol. Most were converted into avoxes after sentencing. Aror Hazelbak, the platoon leader, was sentenced to death by firing squad._

The tablet falls out of my hands and bounces off my legs to crash to the floor. So that's why the servant had me sit down. I see.

I'm trying to figure out what the joke is. What prank is the world playing on me? Because that's what makes the most sense right now. That my life is one big orchestrated practical joke. I mean, how else could everything go so perfectly wrong? Whoever is in charge of this whole gig hasn't missed a thing. Almost. I mean, I've lost my dad, friends, mentor, comrades in arms…I've fought for my life in a nightmarish "game". Yep. It's official. The joke's on me. Self: 0, life: too many to count.

I let out this horrible moaning sound. I'm not really crying; I feel much too empty for something like that. I just need some concrete way to express this hollowness. This utter sense of depletion.

Aror is dead? It just doesn't seem right. He was such an incredible…I dunno. Life force. He just had this sheer reality to him. Everything he did or said was so present and substantial. It feels childish, I guess, but I really do remember thinking, "I want to be just like him". I modeled myself after Aror. His strength, his love for the men who fought under him, the way he put on an optimistic face even when he expected our latest mission would turn out to be a suicide run. I tried to do for my friends in the arena what I thought Aror would have done for us. And he's dead?

I put my head down on my knees and just let myself not think. It's so much easier. Maybe that's why people commit suicide. Just so that they can avoid nasty little things like thoughts and emotions.

Later, much later, I pull myself up into a sitting position. The servant in white is long gone. I don't know when she left; I was too caught up in my own empty escapism. The only thing that pulled me out of whatever deep places I'd sunk to was the fact that my stomach started grumbling. Should I be glad or upset that, even after I've lost almost everyone who matters to me and won some horrible gladiator sport of nightmares, I still have to worry about mundane things like being hungry? And not even starving to death, just everyday hungry.

I force my legs up. I feel so much heavier now. Thicker. More solid. Maybe it's because of the profound emptiness of the world around me. Stumbling toward the dining room is a struggle. It's like I'm fighting to stay real and not sink into the familiar death that has taken my friends and relatives.

A servant is waiting impassively in a corner, not looking up.

"I- I'd like dinner now. Please." I say.

The attendant nods and moves away with his hands still clasped behind his back. As far as I can tell this is the way they all walk, all the time, except when they're making hand gestures. I sit down shakily at the table, still trying to hold on to my own realness.

A group of the silent servants flow through the door, bringing food fresh from the train kitchen. Everything is unbelievably gourmet, but somehow it all shares the insubstantiality of the rest of the world. It's as fake and built on emptiness as the rest of the world. I can barely taste it, and what I can taste is dust and bitter memories in my mouth.

And I can't even focus on that through this _freakin' headache_!

I shove the chair back and leave my meal half-eaten. It's not like it could possibly taste worse if it was cold. I stagger to my room, hoping to lose myself in the hollow place in my head again, now that I don't have any frivolous physical needs to satisfy. The hallway passes by under my fingertips, vibrating with the train's rattle over the tracks. I try to take in everything, to make it all real before I try to slip away again, but everything feels like the stuff of dreams, fuzzy and slipping away from my memory. People say to live life to the fullest. I'm trying. I'm trying so hard. I need to appreciate the life I get to keep. But the harder I work to take it in, the more it slips away. That's a frightening truth. Maybe that means that beneath it all, all the emotion and the rush, this is the core. This emptiness. Maybe all of that "to the fullest" tripe is not about appreciating what life gives. It's about covering the true lack of life. It's all turning a blind eye and desperately pretending that there's a point to life. Get over it, because there isn't.

I reach my door and fall against it, trying to make it open. The weight of everything, the bright train lights, my own heartbeat, the roughness of the wooden door, is pressing down on me. I'm being suffocated. I need to sink back into myself and stay there. The door finally gives under my weight and the clumsy fumbling fingers that I suppose are technically a part of my body. Although they are working without any orders from me.

I sprawl onto the bed, my cheek rubbing in an almost sticky way against the silken comforter. I heave a sigh of relief and wait for my brain to float away. The drugs the servant gave me kicked in a long time ago. Now my headache is gone and I can sleep. I'm so glad.

We'll be there soon. My head is pounding again, because for some reason none of the attendants would give me any medicine. I've gotten dressed up, as per Hellwick's orders. I need to look nice for arrival, apparently.

"How long until we get there?" I ask a servant. He hesitates before holding up one finger in a motion telling me to wait a minute. The attendant scuttles off and I rub my forehead, frowning. After a minute he returns with paper and a pen. He scribbles on it and holds it up. _Fifteen minutes._

I nod and then hesitate before asking, "Why don't any of you talk to me?"

The servant deliberates for a moment before leaning in and opening his mouth.

I draw back at first, surprised. But he points into his mouth and I cautiously lean forward to see what he's pointing at.

At first, nothing seems wrong. I look harder and realization dawns. He has no tongue. It's been cut out. I can still see the pathetic stub of it far back in his mouth. The Capitol cut their tongues out. Nausea rises in my stomach. I sit back, laying my head in my hands.

This is too much. This world. I've seen so many people die. I've been tortured, a pawn in a blood sport. And this mass mutilation is just too much. I've never hated life before, no matter how unfortunate it seemed. I was always optimistic, even when I was drawn for the Hunger Games. But now I just can't. I can't hold up this gossamer web of lies anymore. This world is full of grief, pain, and pure evil. I truly hate this world.

"I'm sorry." I mutter hoarsely. The servant doesn't respond. Of course he doesn't. He can't.

I don't know quite what I'm apologizing for. Maybe it's for making him explain what must be such a hard thing for him to think about. Maybe I'm saying how horrible it is that something like that happened to him. Maybe I'm not really apologizing at all. Maybe I'm just trying to make sure that someone takes responsibility for this crime, even if it's me. The Capitol sure as heck won't.

The mute servant puts a hand on my shoulder. I look up in surprise. None of them have ever touched me before. It seemed like it was some sort of rule. Maybe it is a rule, and he's just not following it. I meet his eyes and he nods. It's thanks, acknowledgement. His eyes don't hold any self-pity. No matter what things may have happened to him, he's still strong. Stronger than I am.

The attendant squeezes my shoulder once and smiles before he turns and walks away with his hands clasped behind his back. Even after he leaves, I stare at the door he left through until the train shrieks and slows to a stop.

I clasp my hands over my ears and groan. Another servant approaches from behind, motioning for me to stand up. I nod, wincing, and he leads me to the door. He positions me just so before he steps back and types a complicated code into a number pad on the side of the wall. The doors slide open on their own and the sun spills through.

The first thing I notice besides the sun is the noise. Cheering and screaming. The people of District 6 are overjoyed to see me. I don't think they realize how much their screaming worsens my headache.

"Get out of the way! That's my son!" Bellows a voice from the closer part of the crowd.

My mother elbows her way to the front and sprints up the stairs. Kind of funny looking actually, since she's pretty heavyset.

My mother throws her arms around me and I ignore my head to do the same. The rest of it is all a blur. Being rushed past cameras and reporters, the cheering crowd whipped into a frenzy. All of the flashes indicating my picture is being taken.

Next thing I know I'm inside a car. There are only one or two in the entire District, but this somehow fails to impress me. My mother is talking so fast I'd be surprised if even she isn't having trouble understanding her. I'm still too numb to really pay attention.

The car stops in front of what looks like a house being built.

I finally manage to speak. "What…why are we here?" I ask in inarticulate confusion.

"We're going to live here, once it's done. They told me." My mother babbles, still jumpy with excitement.

"They're making us move out?" I say in confusion.

"It's going to be far better than our old house." My mother gushed. "I saw the plans the architect drew out. It will be gorgeous!"

The driver set off, driving through this new part of town where a crowd of huge houses is being erected. For the winners I guess. Then I realize how many houses there are. They're expecting many, many, Hunger Games.

When we reach my house, I'm shaking. We're apparently being "encouraged" to leave. Maybe the new house is nicer, but I just can't find any comfort in that. All I understand is that the Capitol is controlling my life, even now that I've played their Game and broken under their iron rod. President Hellwick said I was done. But I'm not, clearly. They will never leave me be, and I will never be done.

My house is small and shabby, but familiar. I climb from the car and walk slowly toward it. Out of all of the sights I saw in the Capitol, nothing has seemed as unreal as this. I touch the door like I'm in a dream. It's real and just how I remember it. A splinter mine. I smile and twist the squeaky knob. The door swings open and my house is just as I remember it. Perfect.

My mother puts her arms around me, kisses me on the cheek, and says, "Welcome home, love."

I run in like I'm a little boy coming home from school again. This is the first real joy I've felt since Disha died. I go from room to room, touching and seeing everything.

"I could hardly believe it when you won! It was the strangest thing! Before you survived I was sure you were going to be the one to come home, but as soon as you won it just seemed too strange!" She babbles. This is not the way my mother usually is. She's a little off today, and I don't blame her.

I try to ignore the fact that I'll be moving soon. I try to pretend that none of this ever happened. But it's hard. So much has changed. I look around my room with its peeling blue wallpaper. My eyes slide over my old toys that I never bothered moving out, our family's few ratty books, the one photograph in the entire house.

I pick it up. It's tattered and sun faded. It was never good quality. It has my mom, dad, and I squished together in its small frame. I must have been about ten when that was taken. I look at my own smile, so foreign now, and the sense of magic falls away from my home.

Only my memories make this place special. And what lives in my memories is lost forever. That boy is gone, and he is not coming back.

**Epilogue**

**Wrianin Abro, Victor of the First Hunger Games**

I lay on my back in my new huge yard, looking up at the stars. People think of the stars as being constant. They're not. They change. These aren't the stars I saw at my homecoming all those months ago. Now that this sick little "victory tour" is over, I think I'm truly as done as I will ever be with these Hunger Games.

President Hellwick has informed me I'll be instructing the kids for next year. I'll be their mentor and teach them how to kill. Disgust rises in my throat. Enough children have died. Wasn't once enough. Once was all Jiminy needed, and Flute and Audio and Fenn and all the others.

I will never truly leave the Games, and I will never lose the children either. They are all a part of me now.

I look up at the stars. Maybe one can be for each of them. That one, that fades and glints, can be for Jiminy. He changed, more deeply than any of us. At first he hated me, then we became like brothers. He may have been the optimistic one at first, but he slowly became a grim and determined protector.

That little bright one is Sneak. She was our source of hope and joy. Maybe that's why her hate towards the end was particularly painful. She was so loving.

That cool and solid one is Rocky's star. Like that star, he may have seemed quiet, like he faded into the background. But he still shone with his own light and constancy. He was a rock.

That reddish one is Tech. He was different. He stood out in the way he talked, his curiosity. That star stands out too, if you look at it.

Those two that have a lot of distance between them and other bright stars are Disha and Red. I wish they didn't need to be so far away from us in life. They look too alone up there in the sky.

I search the sky, finding stars for everyone I remember. Drai, To, Rhiattany, Harmony, Pippa…and Aror. I let my memories go with each star I name. I can hold onto these people without holding on to the pain can't I?

Tears slide down my face, unexpected but welcome. This is a release, so tears just feel right.

In only a few months, less than half a year, twenty-four more children will die. But for now I can cry and mourn and come to peace with these people I've lost. They will never truly leave me, and I'm grateful.

_When it is dark enough, you can see the stars. –Charles Austin Beard_

"Thanks for tuning into the exciting conclusion of the first Hunger Games!" Erasaziel Toonce trills, her eyes staring straight through the camera into your eyes. Of course, she isn't _really _looking into your eyes, but it sure seems that way.

"That last Victory Banquet was quite an affair. I ate so much I don't think I'll ever eat again!" Tennem Flore exclaimed.

"Until breakfast tomorrow morning." Erasaziel shot back. The pair laughed before settling down for a more serious matter.

"Wrianin Abro has been awarded a new house in the recently established Victor's Village, and large pensions, and a place of honor in the Capitol. He is a true champion."

Your family explodes into cheers on the couch next to you. They talk loudly amongst themselves, a sea of oddly colored highlights and sprawling tattoos. But you watch the screen, entranced and horrified at the pictures of the twenty-four children that now form a background behind the deadly serious announcers. They have been numbered, not named. D1G for the girl from District 1. The Victor who is supposedly so renowned is D6B.

"Just remember," Erasaziel Toonce says with a bite in her voice and a chill in her smile, "No matter who comes out of that arena, the Capitol _always_ wins."

And the screen cuts to black.

_End of file labeled Starvation 1. Thank you for reading. If you wish to continue reading, please click __**here**__ and enter your security password. The Archivist thanks you for your time._


	25. Index i

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**A/N**- Somehow this scene was lost. I thought it had been deleted, and was much too tired at that point to rewrite the whole thing in all it's glory. By the time this thing made a reappearance, I had already posted the chapter it was meant to be a part of. But it has some interesting elements, so I decided I'd put it up in the index.

**Rhiattany Hurli, District 9**

I'm woken, as usual, by the rattling of branches as To slips down from her tree. She grimaces from the noise as her feet hit the ground, looks back and forth carefully, and jogs away with just-woke-up unsteadiness. She always starts off the day with a jog; I find that habit slightly ridiculous. I mean, we're not just getting out of bed for a stroll here. A morning jog is something so mundane only health nuts do, comfortable in their homes and routines. Oh well. Maybe she's trying to wake herself up.

I keep up as quietly as I can. I'm not as athletic as To, and it's a bit of an effort. But eventually she slows down to a walk. I am so glad. It's hard to be quiet when you're gasping for breath.

I keep following her. All. Day. She's not having any luck finding anybody in here. Ha ha. Eventually she stops for a lunch break.

I've just been grabbing food from whatever she eats after she walks away. I think I've lost fifteen pounds. Mom must be so proud. She always has been obsessed with her weight. If dad didn't make as much money as he does, she'd probably always be complaining we didn't weigh enough. My mom is impossible to please.

Just as I think To is done, she freezes. "Come out." She shouts, loading her bow.

She aims at a spot in the trees a ways away from me. I should be fine; this person shouldn't see me when they come out.

A boy steps from behind the tree coverage slowly. Apparently he needs to work on his quiet feet.

"Who are you?" She ask coldly.

"Eulkichu Dambis." He says reluctantly.

"District 12?"

"Yeah."

"I remember you. You've got a weird name."

He frowns. "You're the one who complained about her name for half of their interview."

"Just because I don't like my name doesn't mean I like yours." She retorted. His eyebrows knit together.

"You going to shoot me?"

"Yeah. Probably."

"When?"

"Whenever I feel like it."

"What if I attack you first?" He says. Is he _trying_ to get To to shoot him? I mean, honestly! Suicidal.

She shrugs. "I dodge and then shoot you."

"You're pretty confident."

"Yep. I am. For good reason."

His lip curls. "What? You've killed people? You proud of that?"

"I'm not proud, but I've done it before. And I can do it again if I need to."

"Everybody else needs to die for you to survive, right?"

She snorts. "Yeah. Little slow on the uptake, huh? Have you been completely been missing the point of this thing?"

"No. I wasn't finished."

"I've got time. Shoot."

Eulkichu smiles with one side of his mouth, "Shoot. Funny. Anyway, you said that you aren't proud of what you've done. And you know that you'll need to let the same thing happen about ten more times for you to live. If you don't like killing, can you really want that?

"And actually, maybe it would even be better to die. I mean, let's face it. Will you ever get over all these deaths? Won't you wake up in the middle of the night, screaming, after your guilty conscience has kept you awake until all hours of the night? Do you want that?

"Maybe it would be better to die. You could escape that sort of horror. You could escape that living torture. And not only that. If you allowed yourself to die, you'd be a hero to the winner's family. You'd be forgiven. You could be noble, a martyr."

I can see To lose interest.

"Nice speech. If I wasn't as strong as I am, I might have bought it. But sorry, I want to live."

Just as she shoots, he dodges.


	26. Index ii

_The following excerpt is taken from the record of Jiminy Frank. It was removed from the public record._

No! No! This can't happen! It's not fair! How can we die? Please, it's not fair!

I feel hate boiling up inside of me. I hate them. The Capitol. They did this to us. They're going to make Reb, and Sneak, and Red, and me all die. How can they do this? How can they justify this? How can they cheer on our deaths? We're not their malfunctioning robots. We're people. We have names. We breathe. We think. We love and we hate.

I'm Jiminy Frank, do you hear me? I'm Jiminy Frank. I have a father named Derrival Frank. I have a stepmother named Amelie. I call her mom. She loves me! She's going to be destroyed when I die. And then there is my stepbrother, Johan. There's his three kids, Bil, Anderson, and Evalee. The thinks their uncle's just the best person in the world. How is my brother going to explain to them that I'm not coming home? How will my father take this? He loves me more than anyone. He'll be destroyed, but he's the sort of guy who thinks men can't show weakness. It's him who taught me not to cry. So he'll just shrivel inside, and refuse to let anyone back in.

Flute French. She's thirteen years old, blond, and incredibly sweet. She has ten-year-old twin brothers, named Whill and Vernun. She fights with them, but now she wants to see them again more than anything. Her mother, Corinsa, passed out when she was chosen for the Hunger Games. Her father attacked a Peacekeeper, trying to save her. His name is Deronem. They love her! How can you kill her? She's thirteen years old! She's just thirteen!

My friend is named Wrianin Abro. He lives with just his mom, Glowha. His father was killed in the rebellion. But he wasn't even a soldier, you sick sadists. He was killed in a blanket bombing. Reb almost started crying when he told me; someone as strong as Reb almost started crying! How can you do this to people? You're evil! And you want to keep killing, killing children! We're children; we're people.

And Narcis! I hate him, but he's a person. He thinks and breathes and loves and hate and cries. Why do you want to end that, end a person? Why? Don't you even have a reason? Just tell me, please! I need to know that there's a reason for this, for our death! Please, please, PLEASE!

You murderers! You're killing us! You're killing us! We're people; we have names and families! How can you _do_ this to us? I'll kill you all! I don't know how, but I'll get you all for this! I'll do to you what you did to Fenn and Tech and Drai and Harmony and Mr. Abro and...

_You see, this is why events like the Hunger Games have become necessary. We cannot allow the Districts to hold inflammatory dissident views, such as the illusion that they are worthwhile humans. Remember, these people are our servants and nothing more. No matter what dying protests they may dredge up, we are superior._

_Unfortunately, there are even those in the Capitol who disagree. If you know any dissidents, please turn them in for behavioral correction._

_Do not let the events out the Hunger Games shake you. These people are criminals, evil in its purest form. Their names or the families that raised them mean nothing. However, for the sake of those with wavering loyalty, President Snow ordered that names of dead contestants no longer be announced during the anthem. We wouldn't want them to start seeming too human._


End file.
